


Left Behinds

by Red Velvet (sinandsuffering)



Series: Corrupttale [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Ambassador Frisk, Angst, Chara is a tsundere but secretly very romantic (and kinky), Charisk centered, Child Exploitation, Corporeal Chara, Emotional Chara, Especially Chara, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everyone is suffering, Everything slowly spirals downhill, F/F, F/M, Female Chara, Female Frisk, Fluff, Frans - Freeform, Frisk is a sweetheart everyone loves her, Frisk unknowingly flirts with everything that walks, Friskriel, Gore, High School, Homophobia, Honestly it's just really fucking gay, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, I add tags as i go, I apologize in advance, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Just gals being pals!!!!!!, Like really slow, Little bits of politics and political stuff, Lots of Angst, Manipulation, Mental Disorders, More like love fucking octagon, Multiple screwed up timelines, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Racism, Rape/Noncon/Dubcon, Self-loathing/self-esteem issues, Slow Burn, Smut, Soft Chara, Teenage Asriel, Teenage Chara, Teenage Frisk, Timey stuff, Torture, Trauma, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Unrequited Love, We're about to go on a feels trip, Yandere Asriel, Yandere Chara, Yandere Flowey, You know I had to add it in there, Yuri, almost as much as they abuse their characters, asriel protection squad, author violently abuses commas, charisk, get fucking ready, honestly this whole thing is just a large shitpost don't read this, i write this instead of sleeping, it gets really dark and fucked up smh, it's actually very lighthearted I swear (maybe), love triangle?, mandela effect, no one is a good person, sin - Freeform, someone please help them, surface bs tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 23
Words: 202,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9820859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinandsuffering/pseuds/Red%20Velvet
Summary: You thought that you had gotten your happy ending.You managed to not kill anyone and successfully made your way through the Underground, saving everyone that you could. The hardest parts are over with; there’s nothing that could possibly be worse than anything you’ve already endured waiting for you on the Surface. Now, you can finally rest for a while with your newfound friends and family. Right?You have never been so wrong.





	1. Savior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not enough female Frisk and Chara.  
> Let's fix that.  
> Just a few things before you read;  
> When I started writing this, I actually didn't know Frisk and Chara were genderless? I just assumed they were both female? So, that's originally why I wrote them as females, but then I didn't change it because I prefer them to be female. So, if that makes you uncomfortable, I apologize.  
> Oh, and, everything takes place in a post-pacifist AU where the threat of kids being sent away to have their DT extracted is very real. I'll explain this more later, but I thought it would be a good thing to mention to make everything like 1% less confusing. I got the idea for this story reading the Unwind Dystology, so it's likely there will be quite a few elements here included in the trilogy. I haven't seen much Unwind-esque fanfictions, especially for the Undertale fandom, and I just couldn't resist.  
> Lastly, please excuse or point out any cringe-worthy errors. I'm literally a fetus and even if I act like I know everything I most definitely do not, so there's a good chance I won't catch every mistake I've made when I re-read what I've written.  
> Enjoy.  
> UPDATE 11-22-17: I've hidden a message in the beginning of this chapter that will be important to the plot later. Can you find it and see what it means? ;)  
> (Hint: You may only be able to find this if you're on a computer. The message begins with "message 64" which is another hint in itself, and ends with the word "end". When decoding, ignore these two words completely. Anyway, if anyone finds it and discovers it's meaning, feel free to share in the comments or such. Just something to make everything a little more fun. I'll probably experiment with this more in the future ;))

You don’t feel good.

You don’t remember where you are. You can’t remember your name.

But, you’re still here. You still have a chance. You’re still alive...

Alive…

…Alive…

…

….

…..

…...

……..

……….

………..

…………..

…………….

………………..

And then, you aren’t anymore. 

 

 

Ḧ̶͎e̸̪͗ẏ̵̭.̵̗͆.̴͔͝.̷͓̚

              C̶̞͝ạ̶͑ǹ̸͓ ̵͕̆y̷̆ͅo̸̿͜u̸̲͘ ̷̫̽h̴̤͌ẻ̴͎ḁ̷͂r̴͓̆ ̷̮̌m̴̨͆e̸̛͎?̷̗̊

  
                               \  \ Ä̸̱ḩ̷̽,̸̘̿ ̸̬̍Ĭ̶̜ ̷̯̓s̷̹͆ú̷ͅp̴̩̉p̷̙͒o̶̦̕s̵̥̈́ê̷̝ ̵͙̌i̷̳͛t̴͖͠ ̵͇͛c̷͖͒a̴̖̽n̴̩̓'̸̣̈t̷͍̓ ̸͈͛b̶̭͑ĕ̶͖ ̴̥͝ḫ̸̀e̶̟͑l̴͍͘p̸͚̊e̵̥͒d̵̙̀.̶͔̚

      B̸̞̈́u̸̥͌t̵̡͆,̸̜̇ ̵̠̀d̷̮̀ö̶͍́n̷̘̎'̷͗ͅt̷̙͘ ̶̨̀w̴̡̑o̵̭͂r̴̯͋ŗ̵͌y̷̥̍,̷̳́

  
             \I̵̡͘'̷͖̅l̶̘̍l̷̫̽ ̸̟̂s̸͔̀a̶͕͛v̵͔̋e̴̟̿ ̴̳͆y̷̺͛o̶̼͊u̸̖̿ ̸͔͝a̴̰̓g̵̹̐â̷͔i̵̪̍n̷̰̍.̷̱̔

̶̤.̶͕.̶̻.̷̥l̷͈o̵̘v̸̞e̶͖.̶̬.̸̮.̶̺  

###  _Chapter One: Savior_

You were sitting in a waiting room waiting for your new mom to become your legal guardian when they came for you.

You were drawing lines on the floor with your foot, not paying attention to your surroundings. You were nervous. What would be decided for you? You couldn’t go back to your real home. You didn’t have anywhere to go. But, unfortunately, you weren’t all that sure they’d be willing to give your mom full legal custody just like that.

You were so deep in your thoughts, you didn’t even notice the men in black with masks covering their faces come in.

They grabbed you before you even realized what was happening.

“Verbally confirm you are Frisk A. Dreemurr,” they were telling you. You blinked. You guessed these people didn’t have your real, biological name. You were glad.

You were about to ask why, but suddenly guns were pushed in your face and you felt a lot more compliant.

You quickly nodded. You didn’t like people yelling at you.

“ _Verbally,_ ” one of them hissed at you.

“Y-Yes!” you said quickly, closing your eyes in fear. One of them had their hand around your neck, holding you tightly in place, and you could barely breathe. “Th-That’s right.”

One of them held up a forum. “By the signing of this order, your parents and or legal guardians have retroactively terminated your tenure. You are hereby remanded to the custody of of us by law. Any rights previously granted to you by the country, state, or federal government as a citizen thereof are officially and permanently revoked.”

“Congratulations, Miss Dreemurr,” the one holding you said, “By law, you no longer exist.”

And that was the last thing you saw before your world went black.

 

 

 

Darkness.

Darkness is the only thing you can see.

No matter where you look, it’s only black. You can make out faint shapes of some sort within the seemingly endless void of nothingness around you, but they don’t make sense. They’re blurs of what looks to be nothing, that seem to stretch and contort the more you try to make sense of them. You reach out, trying to touch them, but your hands can’t seem to grasp anything. It’s just…  _nothing._

A scream rises in your throat as you finally manage to grab your hair and pull.

A loud thud echoes throughout the room.

And then, you’re awake, your hands tangled in your hair and your eyes wide open. Your head aches, and you’re disoriented.

_What happened?_

Everything is still dark, but you can now tell that that’s just because you’re in a dark room.

The only source of light you have is the faint shine of moonlight seeping through the cracks of the blinds on a window to the far right. There’s a persistent rhythmic beeping to your left that makes your headache worsen. The room— from what you can make out of it— is plain; four white walls with no decor or anything of that sort, paired with a few pieces of furniture.

Your first thought is to get up and move. But when you try to pick up your legs, a sharp pain sears throughout your body, causing a small yelp to escape your lips. You feel strange; like your skin is too tight for your body.

You itch your arms in a not so gentle manner as if it could get rid of the feeling, but only end up causing yourself more pain as your sharp fingernails graze over already wounded skin. But, not all of your nails make complete contact with your arms. Three of your fingers on your right hand are bandaged, which you wouldn’t consider abnormal usually, considering how much you get hurt, but it feels… different. They’re neatly and tightly wrapped, a much better job than you could ever hope to do yourself. And the bandages feel different; they’re more smooth. More new. They’re not your bandages. And you most definitely didn’t wrap them yourself.

Your eyes struggle to interpret your surroundings as you continue to peer into the practically pitch black space before you, but from what you’ve observed, it seems like…

A hospital room.

You try to sit up, feeling thin pillows crinkle underneath you. There’s something sharp irritating the skin on your arm.

It’s a needle. An IV.

_Inside of your skin._

You move to get it out, but the thick bandages around your fingers prevent you from doing so. Frustrated, you shakily use your left hand to yank it out. The pain that follows is violent, but it’s something that you have to do.

Every inch of your skin feels to be bruised or cut. To describe it best, it’s like tiny pinpricks throughout your entire body.

What happened to you?

You can’t really remember. Everything is fuzzy.

You take a deep breath. You have to remember. For all you know, you could be in danger right now.

Closing your eyes, you concentrate to the best of your ability, trying to recall the last place you were before you ended up here. The only thing you can remember is—

Visions of pain and needles flash through your head, and suddenly you know why you're here. Not everything. But enough.

Although, if that’s really what happened, then you aren’t supposed to be here. You shouldn’t be here. You  _can’t_.

To be blunt, you died (at least, that's what you're memories tell you). Except, it was for real this time. Unlike your first normal death, when you fell God knows how many feet into the earth only to wake up on a bed of golden flowers, this time, there was no SAVE. No LOAD. No RESET. No nothing. Plain and simple,  _you had died._

But, you can clearly hear your heartbeat pulsing in your ears, and your chest rising and falling slower as your breathing is beginning to calm and the blanket around you is thin but it’s really warm and you are very much alive right now.

Which means…

Someone else saved you?

A feeling of pure dread and fear overtakes you. First of all, who _would_ save you? And more importantly,  _how_? If you died, and someone brought you back, they must’ve gone to some pretty extreme lengths to do it.

Your body numbs as you pull your arms to your chest and wrap them around your shaking frame. You suddenly feel quite lonely. How long has it been since you touched another living being? Lack of physical touch isn’t good for anyone, although, you don’t suppose you’re the healthiest person anyway.

But, still. Having someone to hug you and convince you that everything’s okay and explain to you everything that’s happened would be really nice.

You grimace in disgust at yourself, shoving those thoughts away. Who would want to touch, much less be anywhere near someone like you?

You ignore that sensible part of yourself for now. Because, if you are in a hospital, then there must be members of the staff that will come and check on you at some point, right? Of course, it’s not like you could get up and go find someone in your current state.

But, for all you know, someone could’ve just come by before you woke up, and you would’ve missed them. Who knows how long it’ll be before someone else comes by?

You sigh, glancing at the window. It’s dark outside, but you can make out the faint shine of the moon. It’s definitely quite late at night.

You don’t have many options, it seems. You’re not sure if sleep is even a plausible thought anymore. But sitting here like this doesn’t seem to be helping your unstable mental state, so, in spite of yourself, you close your eyes.

You’re still shaking, you’re still afraid, and the fact that this room is so dark doesn’t help you one bit.

You aren’t afraid of the dark, necessarily. Not exactly. You need it to be dark for you to sleep, but if you don’t have some source of sound to entertain your senses enough to stop your overactive mind from getting to you, the dark does scare you a lot of times.

Unfortunately, right now, you don’t really have anything to distract yourself. Instead of attempting to try to calm yourself with your thoughts (not a great idea) you try to listen to the steady beeping that’s coming from your left. It’s sort of irritating, but it’s something to hold on to. It’s not familiar in a sense that you’re accustomed to it, but more in a sense that it doesn’t seem to change. It’s predictable. It just continues, on and on. It’s comforting, and you find yourself feeling a tiny bit better.

For a little bit.

Unfortunately, that only works for so long. Despite your attempts, your thoughts still persist relentlessly.

You just need to get back to sleep. That shouldn’t be that hard. Everything will be okay in the morning.

At least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself.

…

….

…..

…….

A few minutes pass.

You feel something strange on your face.

It tickles slightly, and there’s a smell that accompanies it. It seems to be a mix of citrus and… flowers?

Slightly disturbed, your eyes fly open, only to find…

Nothing.

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Your eyes flicker over to the window again. It seems a bit brighter than before, slightly ajar. You’re just paranoid. Your mind is messing with you. Honestly, it makes sense to yourself that you could be seeing things. Or, rather, smelling things. Perhaps, you’re finally going crazy. You don’t really know for sure.

Wait, your window is  _open_? Wasn’t it closed just a few minutes ago?

That’s when you hear a giggle.

You open your eyes again instantly, this time pushing yourself into an actual sitting position, coming face to face with a teenage girl. Her figure is illuminated by the newfound moonlight coming through the window, and it hits her face in such a way that you’d think she was posing for a picture. The light isn’t exactly bright, but it’s enough to make out her features.

She seems to look quite like yourself. Alarmingly so, even. Stunning, brown (are they red?) eyes stare back at you out from long eyelashes. Her stare is intense, full of emotions you can’t quite place. She has auburn hair that hangs in front of her, slightly covering her right eye and stopping just above her shoulders. It’s messy, but not nearly as messy as your own. It’s not in a gross way, either; it’s tousled, as if it was blown around in the wind for a while.

Her face is pretty. It’s slim, with high, defined cheekbones and a sharp jawline, topped with pink lips that are curved into something between a soft smile and a sly smirk. Her skin is pale, not as pale as your own, but it’s definitely untouched by sunlight, almost as if she’s only gone outside once or twice in her life. Even so, it’s seemingly flawless, even having a slight glow in the dim light shining through the window.

She’s rather… familiar. But, that sense of familiarity may stem simply from the uncanny resemblance she has to yourself.

In any case, this girl is absolutely beautiful.

So beautiful, in fact, you momentarily forget the situation you’re in.

But, you don’t really have time to think about it anyway, because she speaks before you can even think about opening your mouth.

“You’re Frisk, aren’t you?” her voice is just above a whisper, deep and smooth. If you had to describe it, you would use the word ‘sugary’. It has an air of importance to it, but it’s still strangely gentle and calm. If she sang, it’d sound beautiful. ~~You try to ignore the images of her singing you to sleep forming in your head~~

You find yourself frozen in her gaze. Something about her eyes makes you feel as though you’re paralyzed. It’s hard to move when faced with such an intense presence, not to mention her gaze is… acute.

You’re not sure if that’s an accurate word for this situation. You make a mental note to expand your vocabulary later.

“I know all about you,” she hums, looking away. You take advantage of her distraction, pushing yourself up against the headboard of the bed, carefully watching the girl in front of you. She smirks before directing her gaze back at you. “I know your everything, Frisk.”

Your heart races.

You know she can hear it by the way her smirk grows. But her expression doesn’t match her tone of voice when she asks, “You know who am, yes?”

Hearing those words, you’re forced to think, and the reality of the whole situation hits you like a slap. This girl, who you don’t even know (you think?), is sitting on your bed. In fact, you now notice the position you two are in—she’s straddling you, sitting on her knees and watching you intently, her face a little too close for comfort—and can feel your face heat up slightly, despite it all. This girl could kill you at any given moment, and you wouldn’t have even put up a fight. But for some reason, you get the sense that she isn’t going to harm you.

You want to say yes, but you realize if she asked you what her name was or anything about herself, you wouldn’t be able to answer.

You’re quiet for a moment, and then you slowly shake your head.

She looks confused for a moment, and then frowns slightly.

“Hm… how…  _curious_ ,” she says. Something about the way your heart races like this is familiar.

And just like that, you have a revelation; you know this girl. There’s only one person who can make your heart beat this fast.

“Greetings,” she says in that mellifluous voice of hers, “I am Chara. I am the one that saved you.”

You have to keep yourself from gasping. Of course, you’re correct in your inferences about her identity. But…  _how?_

“...Ch-Chara…”

She seems to abate a little at the way you say her name, leaning a bit closer to you. You open your mouth to continue, but nothing comes out. It’s as if your mind was locked and now someone has unlocked it; thoughts race through your mind a million miles per hour as you stare wide-eyed at the girl in front of you, the most prominent one being how gorgeous she is in real life and just oh my  _god_ she should not look this  _pretty—_

“B-But… how…?” you manage to ask incredulously. You throat feels dry, like sandpaper, but you force the words out of your mouth. “I thought you left me, I thought you—”

She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t do that. You’re too precious to leave,” she says in such a gentle voice that you’re not sure if this is really the Chara that you know. She observes you for a moment, studying your face. You stare back at her, having trouble processing all of this. She’s… corporeal now? And she saved you? For what reason? Does she want to… do something to you? You know how strong she was when she was incorporeal, and you don’t want to know what she could be capable of now. The small smile that had formed when you muttered her name leaves her face, and her expression changes to one of amusement and… sadness, is it? She frowns, looking straight into your eyes. “...Are you afraid of me, Frisk?”

She must’ve picked up on your doubts.

Rather than answering her, though, you stay quiet. She’s so close to you that you can feel her breath against your face. She’s really warm. You shudder, sighing quietly and momentarily forgetting about her question, currently preoccupied with… other things.

“I  _could_ hurt you, Frisk,” she continues, her voice now a whisper. Your attention is directed back to her. “I could kill you. I could torture you to the brink of insanity. I could cut each limb from your body in an agonizingly slow manner. I could skin you. I could pull out each and every single one of your finger nails.” The strangely disappointed expression is gone, replaced by a familiar, sadistic smirk. Her eyes shine with malice. “You should run away, really. You should get out of here, out of this place. Away from me. Somewhere safe.”

She leans forward ever so slightly, and brings a hand to her chest. “But you can’t. Even like this, you can’t run away from me.”

Chara pauses for a few seconds, and reaches out. You continue to stay perfectly still, finding yourself paralyzed in Chara’s gaze once again. You close your eyes, expecting some sort of pain. This whole situation is dangerous, and you were stupid to trust her, especially now that she actually has a body, meaning she can do a lot more damage than before. She probably hates you. Why else once she became corporeal would she come and see you? She could’ve gone anywhere else; she would’ve never had to have come and see you again, probably. You curse your incapability to act appropriately in situations like this.

But, the pain never comes. Instead, soft skin is against soft skin.

It’s Chara’s hand.

You open your eyes. Chara gently cups your cheek, stroking your face with her thumb. There’s a certain longing in her eyes, one that you’re very familiar with. But there’s something else there, too; something that you don’t recognize.

“Don’t be afraid of me. I could do so many terrible things, but… I’m not going to. I’m not going to hurt you, Frisk. That is a promise.” Her demeanour has changed completely. “I saved you. If you got hurt, that would just be  _such_ a waste, wouldn’t it?” She seems to realize that that probably isn’t very comforting, and continues onto something else. “Besides, Frisk,” she gets even closer, “I like you. Ever since I woke up next to you, on that bed of golden flowers, you’ve been all I think about. Which is strange, because humans are such  _filthy_ creatures. But you’re… different…” She trails off, looking thoughtful. “You’re so… kind. The way you behave, I’ve never seen such…” her voice is now a quiet whisper, a small smile gracing her features, and she strokes your cheek again, “...Purity.”

You close your eyes, leaning into her hand and enjoying the rare moment of intimacy with her. Your mind is racing with everything she just said, and your heart isn’t far behind it. She… likes you? Why would someone like her like… you?

You had always gotten the feeling that she hated you. You felt bad that it was you who woke her, and you she was attached to, rather than someone like Asriel, who she truly loved. Sometimes, you were sort of jealous of him, even; it was so blatantly obvious she cared about him more than anything and deeply regretted everything she did, always speaking highly of him even if it wasn’t in a very… respecting manner. You always wanted her praise, her attention. Of course, you’re not sure one could really  _hate_ someone who's linked to their soul, but she just didn’t really seem to like you very much. She put up with you, sure. And towards the end of your journey together, it seemed as if she had sort of gotten used to you, and would at least not mind being with you. But her  _liking_ you? That would always be a stretch, and even if you denied it to yourself, deep down, you knew it.

Happiness flutters in your chest. You were wrong; She likes you.  _She likes you. She likes you she likes you she likes you she likes you she likes you she likes you she likes you she likes you she likes you she likes you she likes you she likes you she—_

Her eyes linger on your face for a moment before she pulls her hand away and leans against your forehead.

Your face burns, and you struggle to maintain eye contact with her, but you do it anyway. She’s so close to you. Her face is so pretty up close. You could stare at her for hours.

“I’ll be here for you, always,” she whispers, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

And then, reluctantly pulls away.

You instantly miss the warmth. You yearn to reach out to her and pull her back close to you, begging her to stay. But she’s already on her feet.

Is she…

Leaving?

She stands at the open window, wind whipping through her auburn hair, and you get the same uneasiness you felt before. Where is she going? How long will she be gone? When will she come back? Is she even going to come back? Will you ever even see her again?

You reach out towards her, opening your mouth to speak, but stop when she turns around. She’s looking at you again, and you feel your heart race again when she smiles. It’s the same, gentle smile from before, and you instantly feel more at ease.

“I’m not leaving you,” she says, seeming to pick up on your worry, “I can’t bring myself to stay away from you. I’ll be back. I just have some…  _business_ to take care of.”

Sitting on the window ledge, she glances back at you one more time, her smile brighter than before. “You’re not alone anymore.”

And with that, Chara is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 1 AM, whoops. Well, I suppose it was worth it. Now it's time for me to go to sleep and wake up hopefully not regretting posting this =)  
> In any case, I've been working on this chapter for like over a month (which is partly due to the fact that school takes legitimately all the time I have in life) and I just wanted to get it out there already. Hopefully, the second chapter will be out soon and clear a lot of things about the plot up because right now I know it's fairly bland and confusing but. Just stay with me. I promise it'll be worth it. (Probably.)  
> Anyway. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but please be gentle with me, I'm fragile. Thank you so much to everyone who's reading! It really means a lot.


	2. Windows to the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But the thing that stood out to you the most was how small Frisk was. She was tiny. Her bones were very prominent, the skin might’ve as well not had been there. It was as thin as paper, hugging her bones tightly. You could count each and every rib Frisk had, and you were afraid that if she fell, they would splinter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Disclaimer: I do not think of people with PTSD lesser than anyone else or less capable. What is said about it in the text is not my true feelings towards the disorder. Although it's a very brief mention, I just thought I needed to say this.)  
> *Says I'll update soon*  
> *Updates two weeks later*  
> I hate myself lmao.  
> First of all, I want to apologize for taking so long. I've rewritten a lot of parts of the chapter for no good reason, honestly. Originally, it was going to be longer, but I decided it would flow better if I split it up and added some of it to the next chapter. Meaning, hopefully, I should actually get the next one out sooner.  
> ((edit: i originally forgot to add— the last scene was inspired by a work of valety’s "A Trail of Breadcrumbs”. please go check them out!! their writing is beautiful and that fic was one of the first i read and holds a special place in my heart and it's so much better than this.))

* * *

  **LAST CHANCE**

If you don’t know what’s ahead already, you’re probably in the wrong place.

LEAVE

-.-.-.-

ENTER

* * *

He stares at the screen, sighing. If this is what he was warned about, he  _definitely_  does  _not_ want to see this. 

Of course, though, he has to. This is his job. This is what he has to do.

Work can be very cruel.

But this is more than just a job to him, right? This is more than just a promise he had made. He wants to keep her safe, doesn't he? He wants to find out what happened and bring those _deranged freaks_ who did this to her to justice, doesn't he? He has to do this. He wants this time to be different. If he doesn't figure out what happened before, then it could happen again. And _that_ can  _not_ happen. They've gotten so far. _So far._ He can't let anything stunt this progress. Just thinking about it, waking up in Snowdin to Paps's scolding over his laziness, looking out the window to see the  _same old Underground_ for the  _millionth time_ —

—Side note:  _has_ it been that long? Has he lived through the  _same damn thing_ _over and over again_ with _nothing_ he can do about it a million times by now? It definitely feels somewhere close to that, but he doesn't know for sure. He'll have to check. He had to have written it down, right? He remembered how he used to count each time the timeline restarted. But he can't recall whether or not he gave up on that, too.

—quite literally, it makes him _sick to his stomach._

Not only that, but he will have no idea what kind of run it will be. Will the barrier be broken again with everyone alive? Or will it end with an empty Underground and him  _all alone_ with all of his friends simply piles of  _dust_  and being  _forced_  to _murder_  the _only one_ who could possibly understand his predicament _over and over and over_ _again_? _The_ _only one_  could understand his feelings, who could maybe even  _help_ him. 

The only one who could understand  _him._

He cares so, _so much_ about her. About the Anomaly. He wants this to work out this time. He need this to. He can't go back. He can't do any of that again. He can't watch her empty the Underground, he can't watch her transform into someone she's not, he can't watch her look at him with those blood-thirsty, _soulless_ eyes that he used to love gazing into and admiring, he can't come to hate her, he _can't kill her again_. He can't. He can't let that happen.He  _has_ to do this. 

Even if it did so happen that this isn't important in the long run, her life will be even more endangered than it already is. He has to clear up the mysteries surrounding her and this situation and these other timelines. Before something happens. For example, what if... _someone else_ somehow found out? It's a ridiculous thought but there's always that one percent chance that it could happen. There's always a risk. And he doesn't take risks. And, on the off chance that he did, he would  _not_ take any concerning this.

Either way, he's the only one who can do this. He's the only one with the proper materials and resources and knowledge and who can safely carry out the role without any trouble from anyone else. This is all on him this time. And if he can't do it for himself, than he has to do it for her. 

He takes a deep breath. 

Reluctantly, his hand hovers over the mouse on his laptop. He gives himself a few more seconds of mental preparation, attempting to calm his nerves. So many thoughts swarm in his head, and it's definitely  _not_  helping. He should go into this level-headed and calm, as to not make any irrational decisions and be able to think clearly. He should. But, he knows nothing will be able to prepare him for what he's going to see. And that thwarts any of his attempts to calm himself down. 

His phalanges brush against the plastic of the mouse, the sound of bone meeting the hard surface making a small sound in the otherwise completely silent room. He still can't bring himself to do it. He tries to tell himself that whatever he's about to witness can't be worse than anything else he's already seen, especially considering how many times he himself has killed  ~~and sometimes he _enjoyed_ it, he _did_ and he hates it and regrets it and it was such a small part of him and it was just a coping mechanism, right? He's not really like that, right? But if he could enjoy that then maybe _he'll enjoy this too_~~ and has seen others get killed and  _been_ _killed himself,_ but...

 _Who knows_ what this is? Maybe it's something he's never seen before. Maybe it's much worse. And that would have to be  _very gruesome_ and  _grotesque_ but, hell,  _maybe it is._

That anomaly, that kid, that girl, that  _angel_ that forced her way into his soul and fastened herself there forever. He knows it's not her that did the bad things. It's not her that did the killing. He's finally gotten  _so far_ with the  _right_ girl, with  _his_ Frisk, his angelic merciful beautiful innocent Frisk. He can't lose her. Not this time. 

This time, things are going to be different. He's going to make sure of it. He's going to protect her and she's not going to go anywhere and there will be no more bad runs or timelines or killing unless it's someone who threatens their safety. He's going do this and he's going to do it _right_ and he's going to fix everything. 

That's right. This is going to be difficult and terrifying and who knows what other bad things but he's not letting this timeline perish this time. Not this time. 

After making sure his phone is off so there won't be any distractions or the like, he stares at his hand for a moment, once again telling himself this is what he has to do, it can't be _that_ bad, and in the long run he'll get over it, it's for the greater good, it's to protect this timeline and to keep it going and to finally have a normal life and to protect Frisk _it's for Frisk—  
_

He finally clicks the “ENTER” option.

And as soon as he does, despite knowing that this is what he has to do, that it's for t _he greater good, it's for Frisk..._

He _desperately wishes_ that _he didn't._   

###  _Chapter Two: Windows to the Soul_

Sans doesn't come to visit you.

When you were allowed visitors, you swear, just about every monster you encountered in the Underground showed up to see you. Even monsters you just briefly spoke to or merely glanced at. They were all there.

All of them _except_ Sans.

You felt hurt. But, you immediately scolded yourself for it. Why would he want to come and see you, anyway? Even _you_ wouldn’t come and see yourself if you were in his shoes. You suppose you just really… expected him. Which is selfish, yes, but you thought he liked you. Maybe not a lot, but he hung around you. He looked after you. And if monsters who you only said a few words to came and saw you, _shouldn’t_ he?

You sigh, pulling your legs up to your chest. You’re completely alone now; apparently a doctor is coming to talk to you at some point. Or something. Hopefully it’s soon though, but you have no way of knowing. The staff member that alerted you someone was coming didn’t specify a specific time.

So, it seems you have just about all the time in the world to deal with your anxiety riddled thoughts.

You toy with your fingers absentmindedly. Honestly, you miss Sans. He kept you laughing. He kept you happy. You felt safe with him. But, now that you’re out of the Underground, he doesn’t _really_ need to come see you , does he? Naturally, it would be morally right for him to visit a friend in who’s in the hospital, but he doesn’t _have_ to. He could move somewhere else, away from you, and you’d never see him again. Even if he doesn’t seem like it on the outside, he’s a smart person; if he couldn’t figure out the way life works on the Surface, then by all means he’d find someone to show him. And you know just about anyone would help someone as great and charming as Sans.

Of course, you’d really love for him not to do that. But you don’t have any control of what he does.

Maybe you’ll ask Toriel where he is later.

You would’ve done it earlier, but it sorta slipped your mind; you and Toriel were both emotional upon seeing each other again, especially after everything that’s happened, and you were just trying to relish in another person’s touch and company. And, your mother’s presence is quite nice company, you might add. She smells nice. Not like, "hot" or "sexy"-nice, but comforting-nice. She smells like warmth and sugar and spice. She smells like home.

She smells like how you’d imagine your mother would smell.

You suddenly feel a pang of guilt settle in the pit of your stomach. What would your _real_ mother think, with you all cozy with Toriel? Would she be mad? Disappointed? Jealous? Would she hate Toriel? _Would she even care?_

You suppose it doesn’t really matter; she’s not around anymore, and you always got the feeling she didn’t truly care for you. Besides, none of your previous mothers could treat you as well as Toriel does.

Still, you can’t help but wondering…

You stop that train of thought. You don’t like dwelling in the past.

So, you try to think about something else.

…

You feel lonely again.

It’s weird, not having Chara in your head 24/7. You kinda liked it, actually, even as strange and crazy as that is. She stopped trying to compel you to kill everything in sight after so long and was then more like your companion, so maybe you’re not _that_ crazy. You’ve always been a lonely person, but with her with you, you weren’t so lonely anymore. But now that she has a body, she doesn’t have to be with you anymore. And now you’re all alone again.

Or are you?

She did say, “You’re not alone anymore,” with a beautiful smile on her face that made your heart race and made you feel hot all over before she left, so that does imply she’ll continue to stay with you. Technically, she’s probably still attached to your soul. Although, _how did she get a body_?

You’ve never really thought about it, but when you were together, every day she seemed to get more and more… real. The rare times when you slept, when you woke up, you could’ve sworn you could see her as a corporeal person in front of you. And sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of something—something _real_ —out of the corner of your eye that when you turned around would be gone. Could that have been Chara slowly becoming corporeal? Or did someone somehow obtain her soul and place it into her body?

Thinking about it scares you. Whatever happened may be something beyond your understanding. And maybe, it’s a question you don’t want to know the answer to.

You just hope she comes back soon.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts to the sound of the door opening. A woman enters, but to your disappointment, it’s not Chara; it’s that doctor who was mentioned to you earlier.

How long did it take for her to come? You’re not sure, but it seemed like a long time to you.

Then again, just sitting and staring blankly at the floor engrossed in your thoughts would probably make any amount of time over five minutes feel like a long time.

You quickly sit up, brushing your hair back and staring up at her. She has a clipboard with a lot of papers on it. Pulling a chair up to the side of your bed, she sits down beside you. Even at this level, she seems a lot bigger than you.

She gives you a bright smile, but it doesn’t seem entirely real. There’s a strange melancholy to it, and you can sense she pities you. You don’t blame her, honestly. You certainly are pathetic.

Although, if she has to sit down, she probably has a lot to say to you. You swallow. You don’t have the greatest feeling about this.

She begins to talk. You take a deep breath, listening as intently as you can. But, she’s not saying anything particularly important right now; just introducing herself and such. Instantly, she seems brighter, and you think maybe you misjudged her and what she’s going to tell you. Maybe, you’re better off than you think.

But, despite your optimistic mindset, you can’t shake the feeling of uneasiness and apprehension settled in your stomach.

 

 

 

 

You stare lifelessly at the white ceiling above you.

You feel… strange.

The doctor—you can’t remember her name at the moment—briefly explained to you the state of your body. It’s quite strange, actually; your whole body is covered in gashes and cuts and bruises, some of them being pretty bad, but nothing really serious is wrong with you. No broken bones. No concussion. No long term damage.

So, what exactly happened to you then?

Even the doctor asked you that question. But, you couldn’t really answer her. Your memories of before everything that led up to this are garbled and messy and you don’t know the chronological order of what you _can_ remember. All you could tell her about was being taken by those men and ending up here.

You didn’t want to tell her that you died. You couldn’t. And you’re not going to, if it’s up to you. It’s best that no one finds out you have the ability to manipulate and reset time.

She told you that it’s normal to not remember things after going through extremely traumatic situations. She recommended you go to a psychiatrist, and told you she’d refer your mom to one to help you recover your memories. But, you’re not exactly sure you _want_ to remember, from what she told you. Apparently, she suspects you may have something like PTSD.

You were surprised when you heard that. And scared. Of course, you’re don’t know that much about PTSD, but from what you have heard, you don’t want your family to have to deal with you having a mental illness like that. You think of Toriel, looking so scared and devastated upon first seeing you again. You _never_ want to see her look that way again.

She said they wanted to keep you for another few days, as they barely have any medical records of you. Which, does make sense; you’ve never actually stayed in a hospital before, and your parents never brought you to the doctor. They just didn’t have the money to deal with stuff like that. Whenever you got hurt—which was a lot, now that you think about it—you’d patch yourself up and just desperately hope that your wounds wouldn’t get infected. Sometimes you'd go to the school nurse, but you were always afraid if you kept coming that she would start to wonder how your personal life was, and everything would go down from there. On the bright side though, you got really good at dealing with injuries. But, you were always covered in bandages. You still were in the Underground, having even brought some with you. But, you noticed, all of your previous ones have been replaced with the hospital ones. You suppose that’s another reason you’re being kept longer here; you’re finally getting the medical attention that you’ve needed for quite a long time.

Maybe, your old scars and cuts will finally heal.

The thought actually makes you feel a tiny sliver of happiness. You don’t like the scars on your body; they all hold terrible memories that you don’t want to be reminded of. And every time you see them, you _are_ reminded of everything you've tried so hard to forget. They make you feel as though you’re still trapped in the past, and it feels like if they heal, you’ll be set free and be able to move on.

You really do wish they’ll all finally fade away.

You sigh, turning over onto your side and brushing your hair out of your face. Your bandaged fingers lightly brush over your skin. Curiously, you bring your hand down and look at it, staring at the gauze tightly clinging to your skin. Gently, you poke your finger. It doesn’t hurt. You hold your hand out, easily moving all three of your fingers with ease. The doctor didn’t specifically mention your fingers. You wonder, what’s wrong with them?

Slowly, you begin to unwrap the bandage around your pointer finger. The white fabric slips off of your hand, revealing more pale skin. At first, there doesn’t look to be anything wrong with it. But, as you let the gauze fall into your lap and you get a full view of your finger, the reason for it being wrapped is completely unmistakeable.

Your entire fingernail is completely missing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up in cold sweat, shaking and gasping for breath.

He had a nightmare.

It was one of many, but it definitely won’t be the last, either. He sighs.

He run a hand over the smooth surface of his skull to get the sweat off of his forehead and closes his eyes again. The thought of showering briefly runs through his head, but it seems like too much work right now. Besides, do skeletons really need to shower anyway? He's done it a few times in his life, each time being arguably pleasurable, but it's definitely not a necessity. And, if he did shower, he knew it would be at least another two hours before he could get back to sleep. Which, is another things skeletons arguably don't need, but lately, it's all he's wanted to do. All that he's been able to do. Life is just too much to deal with at the moment. 

Then again, as he lay motionlessly with his eyes closed, not one part of him is tired and willing to let him drift off again. Unusual and annoying. Either way, it seems that he's probably not getting any sleep tonight at this point.

He pushes himself up, lazily walking over to his nightstand. He glances at the time; 12:05. _In the morning_.

He just sighs again.

He attempts to walk over to the door to his room, but almost trip over something. Which, isn’t surprising, considering the mess of a state his room is in right now. Normally it’s not _this_ bad—well, it's always _bad,_ but the state of it right now is more something like disastrous—but cleaning his room isn't on his list of priorities at the moment. 

Curiously, he leans down, wondering whatever object it was that he almost fell over this time. His hands grasp a round shape made out of glass. An empty bottle. But, it’s not a bottle of water, of course. It's alcoholic. From the shape, he's guessing it's something like Brandy.

Carelessly, he throws the empty bottle of liquor to the side and walks out of his room. He wouldn’t call himself an alcoholic, necessarily. He just has a little to drink every now and then.

And a little meaning drinking until he can’t even remember his own name.

Okay, so _maybe_  he does have _some_ alcohol-related issues, but being labeled as an alcoholic would not be very good for his reputation. Stars knows that the press would jump on that faster than they’ll cover the stories of the children who fell into the Underground who are still considered missing.

He cringes. He hopes no one has been snooping around his property and possibly catching him in his current state.

Luckily for him, though, the media isn’t completely aware of all of them. Yet. Of course, it’ll only be a matter of time.

He just tries not to think about it.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, he looks in the fridge for something to drink, but all there is is booze. He frowns. So much for not being an alcoholic. He supposes that's what he gets for relying on a bartender to give him his beverages, though. Despite knowing he shouldn’t, he takes a bottle and pours himself a drink anyway.

To be fair though, he  _had_ gone at least twenty four hours previously without having anything intoxicating, so he does have to give himself a bit of credit for that. Even though twenty four hours really isn’t that much at all.

Walking over to the table to sit down, he catches a glimpse of a bright color out of the corner of his eye. Turning around, he to sees his favorite hoodie laying on the floor, one of the sleeves caught underneath the leg of a chair.

He leans down and untangles it, promptly throwing it on. He's been looking for it. It feels nice now that he's found it. Like his life is just _a bit_ better. One less problem to worry about.

Even though not a million other problems could match the ones he's facing right now.

In any case, he's not exactly sure why it’s his favorite hoodie. It didn’t use to be. It’s comfortable, but nothing extraordinary. He definitely has more comfortable articles of clothing. Maybe because of what a pretty shade of blue it is?

_Blue…_

He frowns at himself. He promised he wouldn’t think about _that_ anymore. But, now, it’s too late. Now that he's told himself not to think about it it’s clearly stuck in his mind. It’s not like he has any self control, anyway.

Of course, he's thinking about that _girl_.

The girl that guessed his favorite color on her first try.

Secretly, it wasn’t actually his favorite color. He didn’t even have a favorite color. Well, that is, until her face lit up and she confidently said in that melodic voice of hers, “blue!”

She looked so excited, smiling happily and staring at him with those big, brown-hazel eyes that always seem to shine with determination and hope. He didn’t have the heart to disagree with her. After all, she wasn’t really wrong in the first place. His magic had always been blue. So, he just smiled back and told her she was right.

Since then, he hasn't seen blue the same way. It’s in everything. Especially everything he owns. Honestly, someone could say he practically lives in it now, considering the fact that the hoodie tightly wrapped around him is the hoodie that he wears every single day, not to mention he has many more like it in the same color.

After that, he knew she was special. There’s this strange sense of familiarity about her that makes him feel oddly close to her. It could be because of the RESETs, but something makes him feel like it's something more. Even the very first time he met her—truly the first time—he thought that he had met her before. That strange quality about her made him think she was trouble, and hell, maybe she was, maybe she _is_ , but all in the right ways; yes, it sure is a pain when you catch yourself staring at her whenever he can. It’s definitely problematic that just being around her is enough to make his soul pulse at a abnormal rate. And it all made him drawn to her from the moment he laid eyes on her. He wanted to get to know her. Make her smile. And as soon as he heard her laugh, it was ingrained in his memory forever. He picked up the things that would make her laugh and now they just come naturally. He uses them whenever he can.

One thing he found is that she likes puns. It’s amusing to him, actually; he'd say one, she’d muster some sort of glare or halfhearted complaint but there’s always a smile etched onto her face. She always laughs. Even if it’s only a little. She pretends not to like them, but it’s obvious she finds them funny.

It’s cute.

Oh, and she’s _sweet_. Sweet and merciful. Sickeningly so. It’s another thing that initially made him distrust her, but he quickly learned that she’s a good person with good intentions. As he's gotten to know her (which has actually been quite hard, she still hasn’t fully opened up to him yet) he's realized that she’s his type. He didn’t even know he  _had_ a type. Even during the rare times that she’s been involved in fights and confrontations her eyes have this sort of soothing effect to them, as if she wants to calm the opposing party’s animosity. They speak of a need to find peace. They’re deep, as if they hold so many unspoken words and emotions, always having this strange look of sadness and longing. It makes him want to wrap her up and beg her to tell him who hurt her, what hurt her, and how he can help. She’s too sweet to be tainted by the world around her. Too pure. She’s not completely naive, but she’s too trusting. She believes too much in the good of other people. He knows that if there isn’t someone to watch after her, that trait is going to get her into trouble. She’s too kind for the world. There’s a part of him that wants her all to yourself. But, he doesn't think he deserves such a person. He knows he doesn't. He promised himself he wouldn’t bring her into his dark, dark world. She shines too brightly for that. But, still, she’s too special for him to let go. She's the _only one._  

That’s why, he has to do this. He has to help her. Protect her. Bring the people who did this to her to justice. Fix all of this. If he wants to stay with her, he has to make it so that she is safe. He has to ensure her safety. And then, once he's sure no one will ever lay a finger on her again, that he won't be a threat to her purity and her happiness, once all of this has calmed down and everything is fixed, he'll look into those big, bright brown-hazel eyes of hers and ask her why she always has that distant look of sadness. 

 

* * *

 

You walk through the empty aisles of a connivence store, lazily pushing a cart in front of you. Your thoughts are elsewhere.

It feels so strange, being able to walk on your own like this; without boundaries, or someone else in your head all the time. You find yourself kind of missing it, which is even weirder. The whole time in the Underground you had been complaining and complaining about not having a body of your own and now… it’s almost as if you regret becoming corporeal. Now, you don’t have a reason to stay with Frisk all the time; you have no reason to see her if you didn’t want to. Really, cutting Frisk out of your life would be easy. But, that’s not what you want. Instead, it’s like you actually fear that Frisk will be taken away from _you_. Being separated from her in this way feels strange and foreign.

You don’t like it.

You find yourself in the grocery section of the store, and begin to slow your pace, actually paying attention to what’s on the shelves. The word cinnamon catches your eye, and you stop completely. Walking over, you pick up the package. It’s a box of snickerdoodles.

You find yourself smiling. Frisk likes cinnamon, doesn’t she? After all, you _are_ shopping for Frisk. You figured it would be nice for Frisk to have a spare change of clothing after wearing that hospital gown for so long, presumably not changing. How exactly _could_ she change?

...Unless the hospital staff changed her?

That thought makes you cringe slightly. You desperately hope they haven’t. You long for when Frisk will just be out of the hospital, and you’ll be able to look after her yourself. Leaving her with complete strangers like this is unnerving. They could really do anything they want with her. And she wouldn’t be able to do anything. In her state, she’s practically completely helpless. And she’s also so, so small, obviously physically not that strong. And, admittedly, you've...

You've seen her shirtless before. So you would know,

But, it's not like it was that big of a deal or anything—something like that was bound to happen because of how close (literally) you two are. You _really_ didn't mean for it; Frisk was changing, and she dropped her clothes. She had let out a small noise, which prompted you to turn around to make sure she wasn’t hurt. But, instead, you saw Frisk perfectly fine, aside from the fact that she was half-naked.

Some luck you have.

You still remember it clearly, oh so clearly, despite how hard you've tried to bury the memory in the deep recesses of your mind. Frisk’s body was covered in neatly wrapped bandages, mostly on her arms and legs. Her skin was a pretty porcelain shade, but it was so pale. It made you think that if someone were to shine a blacklight on it, it’d probably glow. But the thing that stood out to you the most was how _small_ Frisk was. She was _tiny_. Her bones were very prominent; her skin might’ve as well not had been there. It was as thin as paper, hugging her bones tightly. You could count each and every rib Frisk had, and you were afraid that if she fell, they would splinter. She didn’t look exactly _starved_ , but malnourished to the point where if Child Protective Services saw her, she would have most definitely had been taken away from her home.

After that, you had begun to take note of how little she ate. It wasn’t that she intentionally starved herself; rather, she was afraid to eat.

“You need to eat,” you had told her one day while the two of you were at the inn, frowning as she simply shook her head. “They’re serving breakfast here. Eat it and then we’ll go.”

“I’m not hungry.” Was her reply, and that just made you angrier. It was obvious lie. Could she not see how  _thin_ she was? 

“Frisk, you're going to _faint_!” You forced her to a stop, leaning her exhausted body against the wall. She didn’t even fight back. “I can _feel_ how hungry you are. And it’s making me hungry, too.” You paused, and then mused in a quieter tone, “I didn’t recognize it at first. It’s been so long…”

She looked down guiltily, wrapping her arms around her shaking frame. Of course, she still continued to protest. You expected that. She was and still is determined and stubborn as hell. “But I’m not—”

You glared at her, “Shut up, Frisk.”

Sighing, she had followed your orders and found the dining hall. Still in that just-barely-still-conscious state, she grabbed a plate and held it close to her body as she slowly begun to walk.

Eventually, you saw her looking at a cinnamon bun. But, she didn’t take it. She just looked at it.

“Take it," you ordered her, but she still didn’t do anything. So, once again, you ceased control and took it for her, walking her to a seat afterwards. It was then that you ruled that she was too tired to resist you.

“You’ll feel better once you eat,” you promised her, watching as she simply stared at the piece of bread on her plate.

Frisk bit her lip, and you could tell that she wanted to eat, but it seemed that she needed some encouraging. You had never been good at that. You aren't good with feel-y things, and it made you feel awkward and uncomfortable when people acted emotional in front of you. You never knew what to do, and normally didn't have the desire to help the person anyway, always leaving it to someone else, especially because you knew you'd fuck up. You'd either say the wrong thing or you'd lose your patience and snap and it would make everything worse.

But, unfortunately, this time, there was no one else that you make do it. It was all up to you. It annoyed you and even scared you a little bit—you really weren't good with these types of things, you didn't want to make this worse and you aren't an empathetic person and this shouldn't have to be your job, but... As you watched Frisk, that fear in her eyes and her hesitation obvious as if she was waiting for you to tell her it was okay, and another image of her _tiny_ body flashed through your mind, you  swallowed your pride and pushed away any nervousness or negative feelings you had as you attempted to be as comforting as possible.

“Just a little bit, alright?” you said to her in the most gentle tone you’d ever used towards her. Leaning forward, you rested head your head on Frisk's shoulder. “Just a little. You won’t run out of food by eating this. You’re not stealing. You won't be punished if you eat this. No one is going to take it away from you. This is being offered to you. It’s okay, Frisk. It’s okay.”

She still remained motionless for a moment, and you thought you may have had to continue to prompt her, but she finally reached forward and you let out a sigh of relief.

Her fingers were trembling, you had noted. It was hard for her. She tore off a bit of the bread, a tiny bit, but you still felt a tiny bit of victory for her. It felt sort of like... pride. Like you were proud of her. 

She slipped the tiny piece into her mouth, and she instantly brightened. But, simultaneously, her eyes also begin to tear up.

“Are you okay?” you asked in alarm, pulling back and leaning forward so you could see her better. But, she simply smiled at you and nodded.

“Yes. I’m okay.” She reached up, pulling down her frayed sleeve and wiping her eyes. “I just,” she leaned back into your arms that were still around her shoulders, “I like cinnamon."

You have contemplated that interaction quite a few times since it happened. Even now, after it's been quite a long time, the memory brings a wistful smile to your face. Frisk is so, so precious.

You throw the box of cookies into the cart. Still thinking of her bittersweet, tearful expression and that beautiful glint in her eyes, you grab a number of other cinnamon related items before continuing on your way to the next aisle of the store at a much quicker pace, suddenly a lot more eager to see what else you can find for Frisk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately this turned out to be more of a filler chapter?  
> In any case, everything will pick up soon, I promise. And, next chapter will have more character interaction and less vague foreboding and angsty flashbacks. I just needed to establish the plot and background of certain characters and such. Hopefully it wasn't too boring. Once again, I'll try to get everything out as soon as possible.  
> Also, already 20 kudos and 8 comments (that I promise I will go through tomorrow or technically today)? Maybe that's not a lot but just? It's a lot to me? I wasn't expecting that much, but I'm not complaining; thank you guys so much! It really makes me just want to down like five whole bottles of five hour energy and just pull a whole chapter out of my ass, wow. I'm glad all of you are enjoying it so far. I sincerely hope I can meet all of your expectations and then some. Of course, if any of you have any suggestions or anything, throw it at me and I'll see what I can do.  
> Thank you to everyone who's reading! I'll see all of you soon.


	3. Forever and Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have to do this.”  
> He glances at you with a bemused expression.  
> “Don’t be an idiot.”  
> “That’s what being DETERMINED means though, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so proud of myself, I'm updating and it's not even in the AM's. So~~ lots of angst in this chapter. It's pretty long, too; more than 5000 words. But, it was totally fun to write, so I'm not complaining. Also, there's a tiny, tiny lemon that's barley even there but it exists. I gotta save the real lemons for later chapters ;^)  
> Enjoy.
> 
> this chapter starts in frisk's pov.

“Ow! Are you _trying_ to kill me?”

“...Maybe.”

“I can get out _myself_ , you kno—hey! Watch it!”

“Be _quiet!_ You’re going to wake her up!”

“...I think it’s a little late for that.”

Tiredly, you sit up, rubbing your eyes. A fairly tall teenage girl stands by your window, glancing back at you with a frown.

_Chara?_

She’s…

Back?

You gasp, immediately sitting up, now wide awake. You can’t suppress the smile on your face. _She’s back_. Where did she go? Is she okay? Is she safe? Who was she just speaking to—?

“Look what you did, you stupid weed,” she mutters with an annoyed sigh, “I swear to God, one of these days I’m going to—”

“...Chara?” you question in confusion, watching as she just sighs again and fully turns around to let you see who else is in the room with you.

Her arms are tightly wrapped around a small pot, holding none other than…

_Flowey?_

“Surprise!” she says with mock enthusiasm, “I thought you’d enjoy a little company.”

You blink, trying to contain yourself. You honestly just want to get up and jump on both of them and complain to Chara for going away for so long and make her promise never to do it again, but it dawns on you that you can’t really walk at the moment.

You absolutely despise being on bedrest.

So, instead you try to do the next best thing; get her as close to you as possible. Excitedly, you beckon Chara to come towards you. She holds Flowey’s pot in the crook of her right arm, her left hand supporting it from the bottom. He’s managed to get himself to the edge of the it, seemingly trying to get as far away from Chara as he can, and you have to stifle a laugh. It doesn’t seem he’s changed even slightly since you last saw him.

She leans down, gingerly handing you his pot. He instantly relaxes once he’s put into your hands. You roll your eyes.

She gives you a cheery smile, either not noticing Flowey’s attitude or simply ignoring him. “He may be a bit douchey today—well, I mean, he always is, but it seems that he’s not very fond of my return.”

He gapes at her. “You… you _killed_ me! Do you really expect me to like you?”

“...You’re right,” she says, smirking slightly. “To be fair, though, _you_ decided that it was just a _fabulous_ idea to not listen to anything I told you, so it wasn’t all my fault.”

“...I wasn’t talking about that,” he replies bitterly, looking away from her and leaning towards you. “You’ve killed me more than once. Of course I’m not going to trust you.”

“Hm. Suit yourself, weed,” she says with a shrug, sitting on the end of your bed.

You stare at her, fidgeting. You want to reach out and hug her, but you know she’s not very fond of psychical touch or intimacy, so you try your best to keep your hands to yourself.

“...Where were you?” you suddenly blurt out, unable to keep your mouth shut anymore. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Does—”

She cuts you off with a finger to your lips. “Hey, hey. Calm down. You literally just _died_ , and you’re worried about me?” She folds her arms over her chest. “ _I’m_ fine _._ It’s you I’m worried about.”

It goes quiet. She's looking at you expectantly. “O-Oh! I’m, um, okay.”

“Frisk, you’re a terrible liar,” Flowey comments bluntly, throwing a glance at you. You pout, opening your mouth to protest, but Chara interrupts you.

“Huh. Looks like the weed is right for once,” she says, directing her gaze to you. “Don’t lie to me, Frisk.”

You begin to say something again, but stop and sigh, realizing any further arguments you make would be futile. You look at your hands, playing with your fingers. “I mean… I don’t know. Everything kinda hurts, but I’m on medication and stuff so it’s not _that_ bad.” You pause, taking Chara’s silence as a sign for you to continue. “I have a lot of cuts and bruises, but nothing serious.”

She looks at you for a moment, but it’s not directly at you. At least, not your face. A little bit below that. You follow her gaze curiously. She notices.

“The bandage on your arm is falling off,” she explains, leaning closer to you. You look at it. The gauze on your arm is indeed partially undone and loose, slowly slipping off of your skin. You reach for it to fix it, but Chara stops you. “Here, let me do it.”

“No, it’s fine,” you protest, “You don’t have to. I wrapped myself all the time back in the Underground, remember? Besides, whatever sort of wound is under it is bound to be gross. You don’t want to risk touching it, do you?”

“Do you really think I care about something as trivial as that, Frisk?” she shakes her head, putting her hands on yours and gently placing your own back onto the soft blanket on the bed. “Just, let me, alright?”

She places Flowey’s pot on the desk beside your bed and then goes to work on your arm. Skillfully, she swiftly unwraps the bandage, keeping her eyes trained on it the whole time. Every now and then, her fingers brush up against your skin, and each and every time it sends your heart racing. Even though you’re not actually touching her hands, they feel really soft.

You frown at yourself. Now you _want_ to touch her hands. You should’ve paid more attention to her hands when she put her them on yours only a few seconds ago.

She re-adjusts the gauze so it’s right against the wound and then begins to wrap it again. She seems so focused and careful as she does it...

You really appreciate it.

And then she’s done, and she backs away from you, seeming to admire her work. “There,” she declares in a satisfied manner, “Does it feel okay?”

You nod, happily thanking her. But then she gets up, looking ready to leave, and your mood shatters instantly.

You swallow. What are you supposed to do? Begging her to stay would be selfish. She has her own body now. Hell, she has her own life now. But what if this time she leaves for real? And you actually never ever see her again?

 _Even if that doesn’t happen, if you don’t say what you need to say now, you might regret it,_ a voice whispers to you, the word regret particularly sticking in your mind. You’re afraid of angering Chara or making her uncomfortable (what if she finally comes to her senses and actually hates you? What would you do then?) but the thought of regret is even scarier than your fear of how she may react.

“W-Wait!” you manage, reaching out to her.

She turns, looking at you in surprise. “Yes?”

Well. _Now_ what do you do?

“U-Um,” you fidget, anxiously searching your mind for what you wanted to say, but you’re drawing blanks. What _was_ it that you wanted to say? Maybe nothing; you really just don’t want her to leave you. You inwardly sigh. You and your damned fear of abandonment. You glance up at her nervously, and then come up with something. “Hug?”

She hesitates, and you see the faintest blush appear on her face. But, much to your relief, she still gives in, nodding and quickly walking over to you with open arms.

As soon as she embraces you, your senses are assaulted by that sweet smell of citrus and flowers, and it’s so strong you think you may pass out. Quickly, you hug back, nestling your face into the crook of her neck and inhaling her scent. You wish it had a perfume; you’d soak all of your clothes in it. You wonder if her smell _is_ a perfume or if she just naturally smells nice. Maybe it’s a mix of her shampoo _and_ perfume or something? Either way, it’s just so… good. You want more of it.

She’s so warm, despite being dead for so long. It almost makes you laugh; just the whole concept of Chara. How irrational everything is. How none of it makes any sense. How none of it can be explained with modern or real science or logic. How, if she was to truthfully die one day, there would be nothing anyone could do. How one day she could simply disappear and there would _be_ _no way for you to bring her back_ —

You grip onto her tighter, banishing such thoughts from your head. You feel her grip tighten on you too, the hands on your shoulders slipping further down onto your lower back and gently rubbing you there. You shiver.

“Are you okay?” she asks gently. You almost miss it, but there’s a tiny hint of concern in her voice. You smile, nodding, and then you realize she can’t see it, quickly giving her a quiet “yes, I’m fine”.

Slowly, she pulls back, and your anxiety hits you once again. Thankfully, though, before you can begin to even think about overthinking things, Chara speaks.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. She’s trying hard not to smile but she’s failing. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll come back soon, okay? I promise. Don’t worry about it. Sleep well so you can get better faster, alright?”

And then the hint of a smile is gone, replaced with her usual indifferent demeanor and expression. She walks over to Flowey, who turned away from the both of you (probably when you started hugging) and gets down to his level with a threatening look in her eyes.

“ _Behave,_ got it? Remember our deal,” she growls dangerously.

But Flowey is not fazed. “Yeah, sure, whatever,” he mutters, staring back at her with just as much hatred, but it seems good enough for Chara.

“If I come back and Frisk is hurt in any way, I will seriously kill you.” she warns before opening the window, and offering you a halfhearted wave and disappearing into the night, leaving you wonder just exactly what she meant by “deal”.

###  _Chapter Three: Forever and Always_

“I have to do this.”

Flowey glances at you with a bemused expression.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“That’s what being DETERMINED means though, right?”

You smile, managing to swing your legs over the side of the bed. “The nurse said that I should be able to walk today. So, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Just because that’s what they told you doesn’t mean they’re right,” he responds, and you can feel him glare at you.

You ignore him.

The cold, tiles of the hospital floor feel comforting on your feet after not walking for so long. Slowly, you push yourself off of the bed and grab at the headboard for support, reaching out with your other arm out to steady yourself. Your body feels abnormally heavy.

Your legs shake slightly, and pain courses steadily through your body, but you keep going.

It doesn’t hurt that bad _,_ you try to tell yourself, gritting your teeth to keep yourself from crying out in pain.  It’s not that far. You clutch the headboard of the hospital bed tightly. Your knuckles turn white as you attempt to shift your weight to your right foot to lift your left and take a step. It’s going good so far; your left foot hits the ground and your legs are shaking but it seems that you can let go of the bed to walk on your own—

“O-Ow!”

The cold, hard floor doesn’t seem so nice anymore.

“Sucks to suck,” an irritating voice chimes from the corner of the room, followed by a rather unsympathetic snicker. “What did you think was going to happen? You haven’t walked in weeks. Which, should be common sense, of course. But humans don’t have any common sense.”

“Not like plants do either,” you mutter quietly enough for him not to hear you.

Sighing, you glare at the ground in front of you as if it's responsible for your inability to use your legs. “I’m not giving up just yet, you know.”

Gradually, you begin to pick yourself off the ground, trying to use the wall to support your weight. Your body aches in protest, but you do it anyway, breathing heavily and trying to stand on your heels to give yourself better leverage.

Unlike last time, you manage to step forward fully with one of your legs (with the help of the wall, of course) but ultimately fail when you once again try to walk on your own.

But instead of painfully crashing to the ground for a second time, you hover only mere inches above the floor, your arms stretched out in front of your face.

Theres's a strange pressure on your stomach. You look down to see a vine wrapped tightly around your body, preventing you from falling.

“You’re being stupid,” Flowey tells you, “you’re obviously too weak to walk. Stop before you hurt yourself further.”

You’re silent for a moment, slowly balling your hands into fists.

“I…”

You feel all of your previous composure quickly leave you, and you don’t have the mental or physical strength to suppress any of your anxieties and anger any longer.

“I can’t stay here any longer!” You yell suddenly. “I’m just sitting in here, doing absolutely _nothing_ , while everyone else is just trying to clean up the mess _I_ made. I have no clue what’s happening or what has happened before I woke up here, but from where I left off, the world was _not_ in a good spot. It’s my responsibility to make sure nothing happens. I’m the ambassador. The peacekeeper. I don’t have time to relax. I don’t have time to get better. There are things that need to be done, words that need to be said, and situations that need to be explained. Even if I’m not a very capable person, I have to do everything I can to help. I can’t let any more people be hurt, I…” your voice cracks, and you slowly slide onto your knees. “What if another war breaks out? I… I may be the only one who can prevent that, as crazy as it sounds. But, everyone has come so _far._  They finally have a chance at life, and I _cannot_ stay here and watch that chance get ripped away!”

“...You may be right,” Flowey allows cautiously, but not fulling agreeing with you, “but whatever is going to happen is going to happen, and there isn’t anything that you can do to stop it. Put aside your _idiotic_ selflessness for once, Frisk.If you wish to help, then you have to get better first. And worsening your injuries certainly isn’t going to further your recovery.”

You hold your breath in attempt to keep your tears back. He’s right, of course, but you’re not willing to give in that easily. “B-But, I need to do at least _something_ …”

“What you _need_ ,” he begins, the vine around your stomach tightens slightly, “is to rest until you’re fully recovered.” Another vine attaches to your arm, attempting to pull you towards the bed. “You’re just going to make it worse if you keep on pushing yourself like this, Frisk. You… You need to get better. You have to. You…”

Suddenly, his eyes have widened as if he’s realized something. His petals begin to shake. _“_ _You will get better, right?”_

Oh.

You understand now.

You turn around completely, slowly crawling over to the table his pot is on. You can feel tears in your eyes—partially from pain, partially from the situation—but you quickly blink them away.

“Flowey, I’m…” you take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before you speak. “...I’m not Chara. Do you understand? I know that you used to think we were the same person, but… she’s not me. I’m not sick. I’m not going to die. Even if I did, I would just come back. I’m DETERMINED, remember? I’m just hurt. Really badly, I’ll admit, but injuries heal.”

At least, _you really hope so._

“You can’t even stand.” He avoids your gaze, looking as if he could cry, but you don't think that's possible for flowers. Even sentient ones. Which, makes his expression look all the more pained. 

Shakily, you begin to push yourself to your feet once again to try to prove him wrong, to prove to him that you’re going to be okay, only to have the tendrils on your body tighten their grip, holding onto you as if for dear life. You place your hands on the one on your stomach, gently trying to move it, as it’s practically restricting you from breathing. But, as you do, it shifts upward, seemingly away from your touch, and into your… chest.

Your face heats up, and a soft sound escapes you as it moves again, settling in between your breasts. Your embarrassment only flares when you’re reminded of your lack of a bra—or any other undergarments, for that matter. Not to mention the hospital gown you have on is awfully thin, enabling you to feel practically every move the tentacle makes.

Flowey doesn’t seem to notice just how much he’s affecting you. You mentally slap yourself for being so perverted. Of course he’s not meaning to do any of this. The effects of his deep seated trauma are resurfacing, and you’re over here getting all hot and bothered.

Shakily, you desperately try to move the tendril for a second time, and this time, you get mixed success.

“Frisk—”

“I know,” you say, taking a deep breath and finally managing to compose yourself, “You’re just trying to help. I’m just trying to get comfortable.”

You move the vine that’s tightly wrapped under your chest lower to your stomach, leaning on it for support. Then, you begin to attempt to walk once again. Except, unlike the rest of your previous attempts, this time, you actually succeed.

 

* * *

 

You try to visit Frisk today, especially excited to bring her the things that you had bought for her, but now you're leaving the hospital in a much worse mood and your gifts still in hand. Frisk was nowhere to be found. 

Carelessly, you had climbed through the window, trying to step down onto the ground but misstepped and practically fell on your face. You didn’t actually fall _on_ your face, but you still fell. Cursing under your breath, you got up slowly, rubbing your arm. You thought you had gotten pretty good at quietly climbing in and out of windows. You guessed you still need some practice with it. 

“What do you want?” the weed snapped at you from across the room. You ignored him, looking around the room for Frisk.

“Where’s Frisk?” you asked impatiently, giving up when you saw nothing and walked over to him.

“Hell if I know,” he muttered, but you could tell he was just as concerned as you were. You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. He's so obvious.

“Did the doctors take her somewhere?” You continued your questioning persistently, crossing your arms and listening for any sounds from outside the room.

“Probably."

“You’re not being very helpful, you know,” you glared at him. “I know you know things. Fess up.”

“Why should I tell you anything?” he glared back. “For all I know, you could be plotting to kill her.”

“Don’t act like that would bother you,” you said through clenched teeth. “You’re just an angry houseplant with a god complex. Besides, if anyone would be planning to kill Frisk, it’d be you.”

He continued his scowling for a few moments, but said nothing. You were right about that and he knew it. There were no concrete arguments he could make. Then, you noticed his gaze travel to the box in your hands. “What is that?”

“Cookies,” you said flatly, holding it up so he could see it better.

“Frisk is really hurt, you know!” he called after you, causing you to stop and yell back,

“I’m well aware of that!”

Why did that have anything to do with it? They were just cookies. It's not like they'd kill her or anything. Besides, you brought other food too. But after everything she'd been through, you thought Frisk at least deserved real, sweet food that she enjoyed.

“No, I don’t think you understand,” he muttered in a quieter voice. You turned around at again at that. “She’s really, really hurt...”

Blinking, you tried to process exactly what he meant by that, but he grabbed onto your arm, instantly snapping you out of your thoughts. Jerking your arm away from him and backpedaling a safe distance away, you tripped over an unseen object and fell to the ground.

Right on the box of cookies you had brought.

Gssping, you looked at the now misshapen plastic beneath you. The cookies were crushed.

“Stupid, _stupid_ weed!” you had tried to keep your voice down in fear other people would hear, but you didn’t care anymore. “None of this even mattered anyway! I hate you! If it was up to me, you’d still be six feet under, burning. In. _Hell_.”

Seething, you turned on your heels and quickly climbed out of the room. You had no reason to stay there with him.

And now... you're here. You sigh. The argument is still fresh in your mind, even though it happened a few days ago. Because of the weed, you weren’t able to bring Frisk everything you bought for her. You suppose it’s alright, though, because you’ll just give it to her when you go there today. After all, that is where you’re heading.

That doesn’t mean you’re still not pissed at him.

Then again, you’re kind of always pissed at him. Who could blame you, though? That _weed_ is nothing like your brother.

_Asriel…_

You stop for a moment to look up at the sky. It’s night, the only time you really ever go out. There’s not a cloud in the sky; it’s all just stars.

Out of all people, you’ve always really liked stars. You never really realized how much you were interested in the nighttime sky until Asriel had expressed his interests about it, too. You made a promise to him to take him to the Surface one day and let him see the stars.

But, dreams die.

The Asriel now couldn’t care less about the stars. Of course, you suppose it’s not fair to judge, as he’s not who he used to be, and it’s not his fault. Well, his _death_ was, it was just as much as his fault as it was yours (at least, that’s what you’ve managed to convince yourself).

Still, it stings. Even if he were to come back, you two would never be as close as you used to be. How could he get over something like that? He was weak. Emotional. He’s definitely still mad. You are too, but you don’t really want anything to do with him now. At least, not in his current form. Maybe, in the future, you guys will find a way to bring his true self back. Frisk did promise you she would. And then, maybe you'll be interested, depending on where he stood in terms of everything. But, for now, he’s definitely _not_ your friend. 

...Doesn’t Frisk like the stars, too?

That gives you an idea. One day, you’ll take Frisk to see the stars. Like, go stargazing with her or something. It sound sickeningly emotional and sweet, which a part of you doesn't like, but for some reason, if it's with her...

It doesn't bother you as much. 

You know...

Why not just do something like that today? Only if Frisk is feeling up to it, of course, but you don’t let that discourage you as you continue on your way at a brisk pace.

 

* * *

  

When Chara returns, you’re more than ready for her, trying to contain your happiness.

Although, despite your attempts, she still picks up on it.

“Stay there!” is all you say to her questioning, smiling as you swing your feet onto the ground and slowly stand up.

“Frisk!” she exclaims in obvious fear and concern. “Don’t push yourself like this—!”

“It’s okay,” you say, easily taking a practiced step forward. “I can do it! Don’t move!”

Reluctantly, she does what you say (for once), flinching every time you waver even the slightest bit. In the end, though, you end up making it to her, excitedly grasping her hands and smiling brightly at her.

She stares at you for a moment, not seeming to know how to react. Then she squeezes your hands and smiles just a tiny little bit, but you still see it.

“You idiot,” she mumbles, “I thought for you sure you were going to fall…”

“...But I didn’t!” you protest cheerfully. She just rolls her eyes, but you know she’s also relieved that you’re back on your feet again.

“Say, Frisk, now that you can walk again…”

You look at her. “Hm?”

“Why don’t we go on a walk or something?” You look up at her in surprise. Chara? Asking to do something with _you_ _?_ “It’ll be good for you to go outside after being in here for so long, don’t you think?”

It takes you a moment to process her words. “Ah—yes! Yes, of course, I’d love to!” you agree with a prompt nod, suddenly quite eager to get out of your small, boring, white room. You grasp onto her arm. “Let’s go!”

She takes you out of your room and through your hospital wing, somehow managing to convince the nurses to let the two of you go outside. Well, more like she threatened them, but you're still amazed at how good she is at compelling people to do her bidding. 

“So, where are we gonna go, huh?” you ask excitedly as soon as you get outside. “I’ve heard there’s a beach around here, actually, from one of the nurses. Maybe we could go there?”

Chara glances at you, and then lowers her eyes, her expression unreadable. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea…”

“Huh? Oh, I suppose not. It is probably pretty far away. Oh, yeah, you've probably never swam before, have you? I mean, when would you have gotten the chance to? You were pretty young when you fell, right? And then, the rest of the time you were Underground and with me, so… do you even know how to swim? Or maybe—”

“No, that’s not it,” she says, interrupting your rambling. “I just… I don’t want to go near other people, Frisk. If I do, I’m afraid that certain impulses will come along and… I may not be able to control myself.”

She stop walking, her back turned to you.

“You know me. You know me better than anyone has ever known me. You know how I use to be. I’m hardly what one could call a good person. I was... crazy. A killer. I was a murderer, Frisk. I still am. I’m still violent. I don’t think I’ll ever not be. I still hate humans. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did.”

“It’s okay, Chara,” you begin, DETERMINED to prove her wrong about herself, “I know that’s not you anymore. And even if it was, you don’t have to continue like that. You can change.”

“But… can I really?” She looks up at the sky, her tone doubtful. She seems... softer, almost. Less guarded. “That used to be me. Even if I change, it will still always have been me at some point. Who says I won’t revert back to that way?” She pauses for a moment. “I still don’t know the exact reasons for why I did what I did. I guess I just had so much hatred and anger at the world that I just had to make everyone else suffer with me.

“There’s so much about myself that I don’t like,” she continues after another brief pause. You're a bit surprised by her change in behavior. Normally she's not so open like this. “No matter what I do, I always feel… empty. Like, I always need to achieve something. _Do_ something. I always need to feel purposeful. And I need to be constantly reminded of it, too. Even when I was adopted by the Dreemurrs who gave me everything my surface life didn’t and more, I still wanted something else. I just had to have it all. I was so selfish. I only thought of myself and what I wanted. I think that’s why I ended up so… self-destructive. I didn’t understand how much I’d hurt the people who truly cared about me until it was too late, and even then it took me a while to actually bring myself to feel a bit of remorse for what I did. I just kept trying to satisfy a part of myself that couldn’t be satisfied.

"I promised myself that I’d never become like that again. But, I still… feel that way. And I fear that, even if I do try to change, I’ll never find a way to deal with that part of myself and that… I will become empty inside.”

“No.”

She looks back you slowly, her eyes glistening with tears, and you feel your heart lurch in your chest. You can tell she’s been holding all of this in for a while. You take a deep breath, choosing your words carefully.

“No,” you state louder and more confidently, taking a step towards her, “That won’t happen. As long as I’m around, I won’t let you feel that emptiness. I promise.

“And… you don’t have to live like that, Chara.” You begin, taking a step towards her. “You don’t have to isolate yourself because you’re afraid of hurting other people. No one can completely shut away their emotions or thoughts. It doesn’t matter what you think, honestly; it just matters if you act on it or not. And, besides, you deserve happiness, despite what you did in the past. You can still become someone you can be proud of. You deserve a new life, and I promise you that’s exactly what you’re going to get. What you do with it is your choice, but I know that you won’t waste it.”

“To start,” you summon the warmest smile you can for her, “you can open up to people. At least one or two. Nobody can go through life completely alone. And I know that there are _at least_ two people in this world who would gladly let you confide in them, if not many, many more.”

She’s quiet for a few seconds, turning back around to face away from you, and you’re afraid you’ve said something wrong. And then you hear her laugh quietly.

“Okay, Frisk. Okay. I’m opening up to you, then. I’ve never told anyone what I’ve just said to you.” She glances back at you, smiling, and you can’t help but stare. It’s not a sarcastic smile, or a sneer or smirk, but, once again, a rare, genuine _smile_.

“I remember that… you told me that you believed everyone has at least a little bit of good in them; anyone can be good if they really try,” she says quietly, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, “Well, I’m trying. I really am. All... because of you."

She turns away again, staring up at the canopy of stars above you both. A sudden gust of wind blows her hair out behind her. You stare at her, breathless. You know. _You know._ You’ve always known Chara was good at heart. Her eyes blaze with a strong hatred of the world, but you can see past it.

“Chara…”

You reach out slowly, trying to grasp her, but you stop, hesitantly hovering your hand over her shoulder.

“Frisk.” She doesn’t look at you. “Will you stay with me?”

You blink, looking at her in surprise, slightly caught off guard by her question. Where did that come from? Does she _want_ you to stay with her? Well, probably, right? Or else, why would she ask something like that?

Your stomach flips. She wants to stay with you. _She wants to stay with you._

Despite your confusion, you answer honestly with no hesitation. “Yes, of course.”

She finally looks at you, turning her body towards yours and looking you straight in the eye. Despite her outward assertiveness, you can see the fear hidden in her eyes and laced into her voice. “You won’t abandon me?”

You confidently hold her gaze, sad that she would even ask you that. Of course you wouldn't. You care about her so, so much. Does she really not know that? “If I do, you can kill me.”

Her eyes are stormy, and she narrows them at you slightly, seeming a bit suspicious. “I’ll seriously kill you, you know.”

You don’t doubt it for a second. “You probably would, Chara,” you agree with a nod. “But, I’m prepared for that.”

She looks away. “Then…”

She swiftly grabs your hands and takes them into her own. “I promise to stay with you, too.”

You look up at her, feeling your heart pound in your chest. You feel sad, nervous, excited, and happy at the same time. It’s a strange combination. Sad because if Chara has to ask you to stay with her, then that means someone she cared about has probably left her before. Nervous because what if you don’t do this right? What if she’s only saying this? What if one day she _does_ leave you, despite the promise she just made? Excited because you can’t wait for the future. A future with Chara. It's more than you could ever ask for. And, happy because there’s a chance that she actually truthfully does really like you. That she’s not just being nice to you so she can use you and end up turning her back on you or stop caring about you or _whatever else_ could happen. That your words and actions towards her have affected her and helped her. That she’ll actually stay with you. That, like you’ve wished for ever since you’ve met her, you’ll be able to get closer to her than anyone else has ever been. That finally, you’ll have a best friend. And not just any best friend. _Chara_ would be your best friend.

You summon the courage to ask something that’s bothering you, “...Forever?”

_Because, the truth is..._

As soon as she hears those words, she smiles. _Again_. Your heart flutters.

_...all she ever needed..._

And nods.

_...was someone like you._

“Forever,” she repeats with a glint in her eye, “and always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've heard that people don't like it when things get fluffy and romantic soon in the plot but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ oh well. I have to make up for the upcoming chapters. Honestly, it's really just downhill from here. But it'll go uphill. Eventually. (probably-)  
> Next chapter Frisk will be out of the hospital! Then, I can start on actual plot and stuff. I have a lot planned for this story. I hope all of you enjoy it.  
> Once again, thank you for all the comments and kudos and such! It really just makes my day. Thank all of you for taking the time to read, as well! Next chapter should be out soon.


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You gasp softly, suddenly remembering.  
> Today is the day you can finally go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i'm back  
> Sorry for the wait! I got on spring break last week, and I was on it all of this week. Meaning, I've had enough time to finish two chapters. So, double update! At 5 in the morning. I have a great schedule. Totally.  
> Enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in frisk's pov.

You sleep. And then sleep some more. Although you usually loathe lethargy, you decide that you’ve earned a little bit of idleness. After all, it’s necessary for you to get better, and that’s your main priority right now.

You’ve been fading in and out of consciousness for a few days now. You’ve just been too tired and in too much pain to stay awake. Every now and then, the medication you’re on wares off and the pain sets in all too fast. It’s amazing how much just a few pills can reduce such extreme agony. You’ve found a new appreciation for doctors and scientists and anyone who helps with the creation of such drugs.

Today, you feel… okay. Oddly. Yeah, your whole body still aches, but not to the point of where you pass out from the pain you feel. You can walk without falling or getting super light headed to where you have to sit back down again. It’s certainly an improvement, at the very least.

You sit up. There’s a strange calmness that hangs in the air. You normally hate silence, despite normally being quite quiet yourself, but right now you’re relishing in it.

…

...What day is it again?

You throw the covers off of yourself, sitting up and stretching carefully. It still kinda hurts to stretch out your limbs, and you think it probably will for a while, but you don’t really care. You’re honestly just glad you’re still alive right now.

Just as your feet hit the floor, there’s a knock at the door. You jump a bit, slightly startled, but manage to give a weak, “come in”.

Your nurse walks in, smiling at you brightly. You quickly straighten up, brushing your hair back out of your face and managing a small smile back. You like your nurse; she’s nice to you, and it doesn't seem fake. She’s fairly young, judging by her looks. Probably around her early to mid twenties. She’s really pretty, too. She vaguely reminds you of Toriel.

She mentions something about the date. You gasp softly, suddenly remembering.

_Today is the day you can finally go home._

###  _Chapter Four: Home_

“Frisk? My child, are you ready to go?”

You turn around. “...Oh, yeah! I’m coming.”

Quickly, you run after your mother to catch up with her. You were walking, deep in thought like you normally are, and you must’ve stopped walking without noticing. You sigh at yourself. You’ve been quite absent minded ever since you woke up here.

Speaking of here…

You’re leaving “here”.

You almost feel like a tiny part of you will miss the hospital. You were treated well here. Some of the doctors who took care of you seemed reluctant to let you leave, too. It made you feel cared for. It’s a nice feeling.

Of course, now you’re on to doing your job as the Ambassador. You’re nervous, but you remind yourself that you should’ve been advocating for monsters ever since you stepped foot back onto the Surface; everything just went completely and utterly wrong.

Despite your anxiousness, you know it’s a job that must be done, and you’re completely willing to help. In fact, you want to. It’s just a matter of if you can do things right or not.

As soon the two of you reach the doors, Toriel stops you.

“Wait here,” she says, putting a hand on your shoulder, “it is not safe for you to head out just yet.”

Then, she exits the hospital herself, not bothering to explain further to you. Curiously, you lean forward and onto the door, looking out of the glass and trying to see exactly what she meant by that.

At first, you don’t see anything out of the ordinary. You eyes drift to Toriel’s figure, walking out into the parking lot. But, as soon as she’s out in the open, a mob of people run towards her, all holding microphones and cameras. Some of them even appear to be filming on their phones.

You lean back from the door and stare out in awe at the chaos outside. Although, you suppose that it’s inevitable. You were just another child who climbed Mt. Ebott and disappeared. But, you’re the only child who has come back.

Besides Chara of course, but she doesn’t count for various reasons.

Otherwise, you’re sure that if you had simply stayed in the Underground, no one would’ve known about you. It’s still sort of surprising to you that you’ve managed to rack up such a crowd when still not much is known about you to the general public. Then again, you are still the Ambassador, even if you haven’t stepped into your job yet. Since everyone is just beginning to integrate and it’s still such a new and foreign idea, you guess that it does make sense why the media is so interested in you.

A limousine pulls up to the entrance of the hospital. You blink, watching as Toriel and two men in suits get out, coming to the door to seemingly come and get you.

You walk out towards them, sending a confused glance at Toriel. She gently takes your hand.

“It’s alright, my child,” she assures you, squeezing your hand gently, “This is only for your own safety. But do not worry, we will not let you get hurt.”

You hesitantly nod, still quite overwhelmed by this whole ordeal, but cautiously follow the men leading the way in front of you.

As soon as you get out of the building, you’re swarmed by the load people that were after Toriel, most of them looking to be reporters. The men push their way through, one of them going to open the door for you. Quickly, you get in the car, trying to ignore the dozens and dozens of people around you, screaming and begging for your attention. You hate large crowds of people. Especially loud ones.

Toriel glances back at you, concern written all over her face. “Are you alright?”

You nod. “Thank you for asking.”

She smiles warmly. “There is no need to thank me for being concerned about your wellbeing.”

You’re don’t reply, distracted by the people who chase after the limousine. Some even try to grab onto it and bang on the windows.

But, not everyone is resorting to such extreme measures. Just a bit to the right, a few steps away from the yelling crowd, stands what looks to be two college-age girls holding up a sign that says “Welcome home Frisk!”. You smile at them. Maybe life on the Surface won’t be as bad as you originally thought.

It takes at least a solid six minutes to completely escape the people chasing after the car. As soon as it’s quiet, you’re thankful, for now you know you’re safe.

Well, hopefully.

You don’t speak for a while, just staring out the window and catching your breath. You’re still shaking slightly from when you first walked out into the mob of people.

“...Where are we going?” you ask quietly after another few moments of blissful silence.

“It’s quite a long story, my child,” Toriel replies, “I promise you will understand once we arrive.”

Normally, you would be quite dissatisfied by such a vague answer, but right now you don’t care. After all… what if Chara is where you’re going? You lean against the car window, letting your mind drift off into other places while excitedly waiting in hopes of seeing Chara there.

 

 

 

 

You stand in front of the towering Versailles-looking mansion in front of you, your mouth slightly agape. You can’t even see the top of it.

“Is this… it?” you ask breathlessly, receiving a nod from Toriel in response.

“Frisk! It’s an honor to finally meet you!”

You almost jump out of your skin at the sound of another voice. You whip around, staring at the young man in front of you. He’s dressed like he’s too rich to worry about how he’s dressed. Although, he still looks… important. Almost like an authoritative figure.

...Or something.

He walks forward, stopping only mere inches in front of you. He grasps your hand with both of his own, shaking it firmly and maintaining steady eye contact with you. He’s slightly intimidating, but you get the feeling that he may supposed to be.

“Th-Thank you,” you whisper, looking back at him meekly. In addition to crowds, you also hate meeting people.

“I was so sorry to hear about all of the hardships you’ve had to go through. You’re a very strong girl.” He smiles at you brightly. “You’re the perfect ambassador of _everyone's_ rights.”

He makes a point to stress the word “everyone”. “Although,” he continues, “I can’t help but think that if we approached you earlier, none of these recent tragedies would have occurred.”

You nervously shift your weight, glancing back at the mansion behind him. It’s very large and extravagant; it looks like a place a very rich businessman or a celebrity would reside in, but at the same time seems sort of… dull.

He follows your gaze. “Ah, don’t let the outside fool you,” he says, “On the inside, it’s actually quite nice. The appearance actually serves as a sort of camouflage for anyone who tries to look too closely.”

You want to ask, “But why does it matter if anyone looks to closely?” But, you keep your mouth shut. Obviously, there’s something that needs to be hidden behind the old doors of this building.

Even so, it is a good disguise. You can’t imagine anyone looking too closely; as if its appearance isn’t enough, it’s completely fenced in and surrounded by dense woods. The only way for an outsider to even find the it would have to be from above in an aircraft.

He turns to push open a slightly rusted wooden door, motioning with his hands for you to follow.

You glance back to Toriel, who gives you a nod of approval and graciously goes first. You slowly follow, entering what looks like a grand foyer. The room is bright, lit up by a large chandelier. You feel like you’re on a set for a movie.

“This way,” your tour guide says, leading you and your mother deeper into the mansion and down a dimmer hallway with such fancy-looking carpeting that you feel bad for walking over it with shoes on. There’s a smell that hangs in the air; it’s like a mix of clean cotton and that musty smell of books that you’d find in a library.

He opens another large, wooden door. On the other side is another spacious room, this one looking to be a grand dining hall. You notice that all the windows are boarded up.

“You see, this place was actually abandoned quite a while ago,” the man who you still don’t know the name of explains. “Because of that, we’ve had to board all the windows. After all, light in an abandoned place—especially at night—would be way too conspicuous.”

You stray away from Toriel and the man slightly, exploring your surroundings in utter amazement. You’ve never been in mansion before. Hell, you’ve never been in a building even close to as nice as this one is. You lightly run your fingers against the walls that are painted with a gold that seems to glow with luminosity. It’s a beautiful color, but in some places, you observe, the paint has begun to chip off. This place must be quite old.

“Everything is sort of messy right now,” he goes on, and you turn back around. “We weren’t exactly expecting you today. No one knew the exact day you’d be out of the hospital. Most of the mansion is cleaned up, but the south wing we didn’t really have much time to do stuff with. We rarely ever go in the south wing, though, so I suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

You look behind him. There’s a table covered in papers and dozens of other trinket looking things. Curiously, you walk around him to go see what it’s all about.

On it, there’s everything from flowers to handwritten notes to little gifts that you’d imagine someone would receive on a gift-giving holiday. An envelope with brightly colored writing on the front in particular catches your eye. You pick it up to look at it more closely, and to your surprise, it’s addressed to you.

Bewildered, you put it back down and take a closer look at the notes that have writing exposed. All of them are also addressed to you. Even some of the gift looking items have written on them or on a little piece of paper beside them “To Frisk”

They’re all for you.

“Ah, these things have just spontaneously began to appear ever since we went public,” a voice explains from behind you. “We didn’t expect anything like this, but maybe we should have. I can only imagine the collection growing. It’s all for you, Frisk.”

You turn to look at him, leaning against the wall. “What exactly… is this?”

He begins to unlock a door to your right. “What do you mean?”

“This… group.” You gesture all around you. “This place. How are you associated with me?”

“Ah, right. Sorry, I forgot to mention that,” he bows his head slightly. “For your protection and service, an organization known as the International Federation for All People's Rights has been redesigned specifically in your honor. Originally, the organization simply focused on rights of people on the Surface; but now that monsters have begun to integrate once again, our focus has been redirected to cover all of them as well. Of course, you are the center of all of our actions, Frisk. Not only are you the ambassador for monsters, you are our ambassador as well.” He pauses for a moment, turning the doorknob but not yet opening the door. “Welcome to the FAPR.”

And then, the heavy door swings open to reveal a room full of people, who all stop talking once they see the three of you.

“...Well. Look who’s finally arrived.” Your eyes snap to an attractive brunette clad in a tight, professional looking uniform at the back of the room. She hops down from the tall counter she’s sitting on with ease. There’s a smirk etched onto her face as she walks over to another uniformed man standing by the door. “It seems that your timing was off just _a bit_ there, _mister_.” Her voice is completely calm but laced with a venomous edge paired with piercing eyes that would make even Undyne run away crying to her mother. “You told me I would only be here mere ten to fifteen minutes, yet, how long has it been now, hm? Let’s see… thirty-seven? My, my. You must be quite brave, lying to a higher up in your own organization. I wonder, how would your boss react if they heard about this?”

You stifle a laugh. Yup, this is definitely her. You lunge at her with open arms.

“Chara!” you exclaim happily, burying your face into her neck. She doesn’t even waver. You half expect her to push you away, but instead she laughs softly, gently patting your head and holding you like you’ve always dreamed about her doing. You guess that that talk you two had really did have an effect on her. And not a negative one, either.

Your hands grasp and the soft, velvety fabric of her shirt, and you pull back to get a closer look at her uniform. You tilt your head slightly.

“Wait, you’re in the organization too?” you ask, staring at the symbol that you also saw on the “tour-guide”’s shirt. She smiles down at you.

“Of course. I’m the only one who can truthfully protect you, after all.” She replies. Which, needless to say, is completely true.

You only now notice the looks from the others in the room when the two of you stop speaking for a moment and all you’re met with is utter silence. Your eyes meet your mother’s, and suddenly you feel your stomach sink to your toes.

_Oh._

You didn’t expect her to find out like this, but better late than never, you suppose.

You look back up to Chara, who surprisingly seems unbothered. But, then again, she normally has a look of indifference on her face. Although, her eyes seem quite calm as well, so you decide you’ll let her do the talking.

She doesn’t let go of you. Instead, she sweeps you around so that you’re hugging her from the side of her torso, giving her access to the front of her body. She holds you against her with one arm, almost protectively, and holds out the other.

“I do not believe we have been introduced,” she holds eye contact with the tour guide and briefly glances at Toriel, but her cool demeanour doesn’t waver even a bit. “I am Chara. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

* * *

 

You were getting rather bored of waiting.

And the fact that the room you were waiting in was full of _humans_ doesn’t help one bit.

They weren’t necessarily _loud,_ but noisy enough to be quite annoying. You had a knife in your back pocket and a pocketknife in your bra that you managed to sneak past security; you could whip either one out—or, better yet, both—and kill all of them effortlessly. It would be so fun, to see their worthless faces quickly change into horror as you gutted and skinned each and every one of them. You wondered, how would their families react, knowing their precious relative got stabbed waiting to meet someone who could quite possibly rival a celebrity’s fame? They wouldn’t have even gotten the chance to give them a proper, final goodbye. Now _that_ would give these useless humans something to scream about. Oh, how sweet it would feel, to just _kill each and every one of them_ —

 _“It’s okay, Chara. I know that’s not you anymore,”_ Frisk’s sweet voice rang in your head, stopping your homicidal thoughts right in their tracks. Right. You’re here to see Frisk, and any moment she would come through those doors and your torture would finally end.

Of course, the man who told you how long the wait was going to be just _had_ to lie to you.

You hate liars, even though you are a skilled one yourself, and right now you’re just not in the mood. Although, it seems he would have to wait, as now you have other things to deal with.

Still holding Frisk’s small body against yours, you hold out a hand for the man in front of you to shake, no matter how much physical contact with humans disgusts you (Frisk being the only exception). Because if you’re going to live up on the Surface, not to mention be a part of this organization for Frisk’s sake, you’ll have to get used to formalities like this.

You briefly introduce yourself, doing your best not to cringe when the man shakes your hand and holds steady eye contact the whole time. You get the sense he’s trying to intimidate you. You internally smirk, silently wishing him luck with a goal as high as that.

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Chara,” he says with such confidence that you have to restrain yourself from slapping him. The _nerve_ …

Your eyes drift to your mother once again, and you sigh, not exactly feeling up to telling the whole story of how you and Frisk know each other. Thankfully, your mother and you already had a tearful reunion a few days earlier. She was the second person you went to see after you came back, the first one being Frisk. Initially, she thought she was hallucinating; it took her quite a while to finally get used to the idea of you being alive. You still don’t think she’s completely used to it. In the back of her mind, she probably worries one day she’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. It hurts you deeply that there’s even a possibility that she’d feel that way, but you know she just needs time.

Because of that, you didn’t really go into details. Despite how long it’s been, you know the whole topic is still pretty sensitive for her (and you as well). Understandably so. Meaning, however, that you didn’t mention how you’re Frisk’s soulmate and how you guided her through the Underground. You’re not really sure how to tell someone that casually anyway. Articulating you and Frisk’s connection and just everything that happened to the two of you in words is quite hard. But, you’re definitely not going to do it now, in public in a room full of people. Just how exactly are you going to go about this?

You’re all silent for a moment, until you finally muster some sort of explanation that makes sense in your head. “I might’ve forgotten to mention that Frisk and I have known each other this whole time to you, mother. My apologies.” You bow your head to slightly. “Frisk and I have been together for quite some time.”

You plan to go on, but Frisk cuts you off. “Y-Yeah! Chara was with me the whole time in the Underground. It’s, um, kinda a long story…”

Toriel slowly nods, and you can tell she’s quite confused. “I see,” is all she says, and you can tell that she definitely has more questions but graciously doesn’t ask any and saves them for later when the three of you are alone. You let out a breath of relief.

There’s another brief silence, aside from the quiet chatter from the others in the room. “Well then, Chara, Frisk,” the man who you don’t care to remember the name of begins, “I would like to introduce you two to the rest of the FAPR.”

 

 

 

 

After what seems like hours of meeting people and lecturing, you’re finally left alone for a little while. Frisk is quickly ushered out of the room as soon as the two of you seem unoccupied. She can never catch a break. At first, you were quite iffy about these people who you don’t even know taking her somewhere you couldn’t see, but Toriel assured you that it was fine. And, now…

Now you’re here.

Waiting.

In a room full of people.

 _Again_.

Life doesn’t seem to favor you on this particular day. Then again, you suppose it never has, but it must like you enough to give you a second chance at life after you completely trashed it.

Or, maybe, that’s just because the universe or whatever god that’s out there likes to watch you suffer. You honestly wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.

Crossing your arms, you glance at your mother. She’s distracted, chatting away with someone else in the room. Slowly, you make your way out of the room, quietly opening the door that you saw Frisk go out of. You don’t think anyone would really care or do anything, but you still hope no one saw you. You wouldn’t want any of them to follow you.

You linger at the door for a moment before continuing on your way and looking around. Where could they have gone?

“God, this place is fucking huge…” you mutter to yourself, walking down a large corridor with boarded up windows. You stop to look at them for a moment. “Oh. Classy.” You find it kind of strange that such a large company as this could afford such a nice mansion but instead of using tinted windows or curtains or something they resorted to completely boarding up the windows with wooden planks, but that’s just your opinion.

You pass plenty of doors, but all of them are locked. Reaching the end of the hallway, you stop and sigh, realizing that that finding Frisk this huge building is probably hopeless.

And then, you hear yelling.

“Frisk?!”

Swiftly turning the corner, you follow the sound to a closed door at the end of yet another agonizingly long corridor. You knew it was a bad idea to leave Frisk alone with these people. You’d kick down this door if you have to. You pull out your pocket knife, reaching for the doorknob and slowly turning it to see if it’s locked. It’s not. It’s actually already open. The door opens slightly, giving you a small crack to see inside. Holding the knife to your chest and ready to barge in and stab someone if necessary, you lean in and look inside.

“Pl-please—wait! Don’t! D-Don’t touch me, please. I’m sorry, just—please, no touching.”

Frisk backs away from the woman standing next to her who has the same type of uniform you have on in her hands. _Oh_. You sigh in relief, putting your pocket knife away. She’s okay. The woman isn’t hurting her. She didn’t actually yell, probably; it just sounded like she was because everything here is so big and sound carries. Even so, you stay to make sure this person won’t hurt her.

“Alright, no touching,” the woman agrees, seeming slightly startled. “Here,” she hands her the clothes, “I just want to see if it fits properly. Come out when you’re done.”

Frisk nods, holding the uniform close to her chest and watching the woman leave before pulling off her shirt.

You gasp, quickly leaning back and turning your head away. But, you get the urge to look back in on her, to see if her body is still as malnourished as it was back when you saw it in Snowdin. And then you roll your eyes at yourself for being so stupid, because duh, of course it is, someone doesn’t just magically gain weight without some sort of change or in such a little time period. Except, it isn’t _that_ little, but with the recent happenings and judging by Frisk’s eating habits, she’s probably only worse off than she was before. And that scares you.

Against your better judgement, you glance back through the slightly ajar door only to see Frisk fully dressed, and you hate yourself for being so perverted. Although, despite being dressed, she doesn’t move. Instead, she stares into the mirror in front of herself, slowly turning to her sides and watching herself cautiously. She has this look of hatred and disgust on her face that you’ve never seen before. She pulls at the fabric gently before giving up and sighing.

You pull back, stepping to the side and leaning against the wall. You frown, glaring down at your feet. You would’ve never guessed Frisk would feel that way about herself.

But, maybe it’s not what you think it is. She might’ve just not liked how she looked in the outfit, but… The _look_ in her eyes. It seemed so sad, so…

Hopeless.

“Chara? What are you doing out here?”

You jump, quickly being brought back to reality. Frisk gazes at you, any traces of internal conflict gone.

“I was looking for you,” you reply as calmly as you can. Her eyes widen slightly and she instantly starts apologizing.

“O-Oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to leave you all alone in there with all those people, Chara. I know you hate this type of thing. It was really insensitive of me, especially after—”

“Frisk,” you smile, “It’s _fine._ ”

She looks down, but smiles too. “S-Sorry…”

You almost scold her for apologizing again, but you remember the way she was looking at herself earlier, and instead you just gently pat her on the head.

“Oh, and by the way,” you begin walking, motioning for her to follow, “the uniform looks really cute on you.”

She actually stops, staring at you in disbelief. “I—… What?”

You look back at her. “Did I stutter?”

“Well, no… But…” she stands there for a moment before running after you when you keep walking. “I-I… Chara, y-you, I, um… th-thank you…”

You laugh at how flustered she is from just a little compliment, and she pouts at you. You ruffle her hair playfully, something you’d do in the Underground every now and then to sort of serve as a reminder that you were with her, and that you weren’t going anywhere. Now, it’s just another affectionate gesture shared between the two of you.

She probably thinks you don’t notice it, but for the rest of the time the two of you are together, she keeps sneaking glances at you and smiling to herself. Stupid Frisk. You swear to yourself you’ll never compliment her again.

But, you know you’re just lying to yourself.

 

* * *

 

You throw yourself onto your new bed, burying your face into the soft blanket covering it. It’s going to be so nice to be able to sleep in your own bed. The hospital one wasn’t _uncomfortable_ persay, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable, either. In any case, you’re just glad to be out of there.

“Tired?”

You lazily lift your head up. Chara looks down at you, raising an eyebrow as she sets a bag down on the table and begins to unpack it. You nod, resting your cheek against the mattress and watching her. “Are you staying here?”

“Yeah. For now, at least. I don’t have anywhere else to go. But, I’m working on getting an apartment of my own.”

You sit up in alarm, and she turns around to look at you when you don’t say anything. “What? Don’t look at me like that...”

You stay silent, trying to ignore the wave of nausea that’s suddenly come over you. Chara sighs, putting down the folded clothes in her hands and walking over to you. She crouches down to your level before speaking. “Hey. It’s only a few blocks away, alright? Besides, it’ll be a while before I can actually move in there, anyway.” You still don’t speak. Chara frowns, and you feel a pang of guilt. Of course Chara wants to move out. Why would she want to stay, especially now that you’re here? You have no right to make her feel bad about it.

But, she’s not mad. “It’s not like I’m going to live there because I want to get away from mom, or you. Things just… work out better that way.” She pauses, trying to catch your gaze. “...I originally asked mom if you could come live with me, but… she didn’t seem that into it. You’re important to her, Frisk. She doesn’t want to lose you. But, ah, she can’t take care of you like I can. And, you’re getting older too, and one of these days you’ll have to move out anyway. I’d love for you to live with me, Frisk. I just have to convince mom to let you.”

You stare at her for a moment before jumping up and tackling her in a hug.

“Thank you, thank you, _thank you_! You’re the best, Chara!”

She sighs, “You know, I think I liked you better when you couldn’t walk.”

You pull away, staring at her in shock, and she laughs, playfully pushing you off of her.

Getting to her feet, she offers you her hand. “Come on. It’s getting late. You should probably get to bed soon.” She pulls you to your feet. “Tomorrow will be another busy day.”

“I think everyday will be a busy day from now on,” you say, which Chara agrees with. She goes back to unpacking your stuff, and you frown. “You don’t have to do that, Chara. I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t stop. “Frisk, you just got out of the hospital.”

“You still don’t have to do it—”

“Go get ready for bed.”

“Chara, just—”

“Frisk.” She narrows her eyes at you. “ _Go._ ”

“...Fine.”

Defeated, you get up and walk out of the room. On the way to the bathroom, you see something out of the corner of your eye.

“Flowey? Is that you?” You approach him, and he looks up at you. “Why are you out here?”

“ _Someone_ left me here,” he huffs, and you already know who that “someone” is.

“Aw, how mean of her,” you reach out to touch him but he dodges your hand. You pretend you don’t notice. “You’d like it better in my room, wouldn’t you? Hold on, just wait until Chara goes to bed and I’ll put you in there, okay?”

You don’t wait for his response, giving him a gentle pat and then shutting the door to the bathroom. You wash your face, change some the bandages on your body that need to be changed, brush your teeth, and then, after looking through a few drawers for a hairbrush, comb through your hair a couple of times. You try to go fast. You don’t want to keep Chara (and Flowey) waiting.

When you go back into your room, Chara seems to have almost unpacked all of your things. She works fast.

“Thank you,” you say, sitting on the edge of your bed. “I mean it.”

She scoffs. “I couldn’t let you do it yourself. You’d probably get tired halfway through and make a mess.”

You almost smile at her attempt of justifying her behaviors. “When you do leave, you’ll come and visit, won’t you?”

She finishes, getting off of the floor and coming to sit with you, much to your delight. “Of course. It’s literally my job to protect you now, Frisk. It’s going to be very rare for the two of us to be apart.”

“Oh. Right.” You bring your knees up to your chest, resting your head on them. “We have a lot ahead of us, Chara…”

“I know, Frisk.” She says. “I know.”

“But,” she raises a finger, “we’re together now. We can overcome any challenge the world throws at us.”

“...You think so?”

“Yeah. Now, quit worrying so much and go back to your unconstrained optimism. I’m not good being positive.”

That makes you laugh. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just… a lot…”

“I know. It is. It’s also pretty late.” She stands up, letting go of your hand. Although, this time, you’re not worried. “If you need anything, I’m just a door down from you, alright?”

You nod. “Goodnight, Chara.”

“Goodnight, Frisk. See you in the morning.” She turns your light off. “Welcome home.”

_Home..._

You wait until you hear her door close before getting up, her words sticking with you. Home. You’re finally home.

Quietly, you make your way back to the counter where Flowey is. He glares at you once he notices your presence.

“Took you long enough.”

You carefully pick up his pot. “Sorry. Chara and I talked for a while.”

“No shit,” he mutters. You close your door as quietly as you can to not wake up Toriel or bother Chara.

“Well, would you rather have been there to listen to us?” he doesn’t reply. “That’s what I thought.”

You place him on a table near the window. “How’s this?”

“Better than before, I guess,” he grumbles, but there’s no edge to his voice.

You get into bed, but you’re not tired. You stare blankly at the wall, trying to ignore all the thoughts running through your head. Are you happy? Scared? Excited? You’re not sure.

It’s so good to finally have an actual home. Your previous “home” wasn’t really home at all. It was a terrible place that you never want to go back to. But, you know with good things come bad things. You have so much to do. There are so many opportunities for you to get hurt. For Chara to get hurt. For Toriel to get hurt… for any of your friends to get hurt. And just what about Sans? Where is he right now? What’s he doing? Is he safe? Happy? Is he… happy without you?

You turn onto your other side, wrapping your arms around yourself. When will you see him again…? Will you ever see him again?

“Go to sleep, you idiot,” Flowey suddenly snaps from behind you. You turn back onto your left side to look at him.

“I can’t,” you whisper, reaching out for him. He frowns.

“Well, don’t bother me. What am I supposed to do about it?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Just tell me everything will be okay.”

“Just because I say it won’t make it true.”

“Yeah. But hearing you say it may help me fall asleep.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“You won’t know until you do it.”

He glares at you, but doesn’t protest any further. “Everything will be _fine_ , Frisk. Okay? Fine. It’ll all be fine.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Now shut up and go to sleep.”

And for now, that’s good enough for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmkay I promise I'll answer comments tomorrow because I'm like about to fall asleep as I try to do this, which is my fault I'm sorry you guys lol—  
> Okay wait. When did I get 53 Kudos and 22 comments? Asdfghjkl thank you guys so much!! I was only gone for like two weeks and just. I come back to this? I'm so happy all of you are great thank you!!!  
> Well, I'm off to edit the next chapter. Should be out in a few minutes. If not, then there's a good chance that I fell asleep trying to edit it and it'll be out sometime soon tomorrow. I apologize for my terrible sleep schedule, lol. Thank you to everyone who's reading and leaves kudos/comments! I really appreciate it.


	5. Wildcard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We have to stay together, right?”  
> You beam at her. “Right!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this is just Frisk talking with a therapist. I know most of you are here for shipping purposes and such, so that part is skippable, but it will end up being sorta important to the plot, so. But, you don't have to read it.  
> Enjoy~
> 
> this chapter starts in frisk's pov.

“Frisk. Wake up.”

You whimper, turning away from the voice and hiding your head in your pillow. “Just… five more minutes...”

A sigh sounds from beside your bed. “Frisk, come on. You have things to do.”

There’s a touch on your arm but you swat it away and pull the covers over your face. You’re about to fall asleep again when something glides across your stomach and dangerously close to your chest.

You quickly jerk upward into a sitting position, your eyes darting to the offending plant. He watches you intently with an amused expression, a smug smirk growing on his face. You glare at him, hitting the vines that have made their way under your clothes.

“W-Why would you do that?” you demand, crawling a safe distance away from him and kicking his vines as he retracts them.

“It got you up, didn’t it?” he looks at you with disdain, “Your shirt’s unbuttoned, by the way.”

You glance down, and sure enough, the first three buttons of your blouse are undone. Your face heats up, and you quickly scramble to re-button them, but your fingers are still shaking from being woken up in such a way, so you just cover your upper body with the blankets.  

“What time is it?” you ask quietly, trying to get your burning face to cool down. Thankfully, though, Flowey doesn’t seem to notice your distress.

“Around nine-thirty,” he says in a rather unbothered manner. “I would hurry, if I were you.”

You glare at him again, but nevertheless get up out of bed and begin to get ready. It’s been a few days since you first moved in here, and you haven’t had the least bit of trouble settling in. The house is really nice, not to mention quite big for just you, Chara, and Toriel. But, you don’t mind it. You like to think that the excessive space will just allow you to have some of your friends over to come and stay with you sometime. After all, you have another room with two other beds and a trundle. To say the least, it’s much better than your old home.

Despite your protests, after being out and about the whole day you were released from the hospital, Toriel insisted you spend a few days just relaxing in the house. It’s still caused you some anxiety just sitting around like this, but you don’t really have a choice in the matter, so you’ve tried to enjoy it the best you can. It’s kinda hard not to, being with Chara and Flowey and Toriel so much and just being able to spend time with them and talk to them without having all the complications that you had in the Underground.

Although Toriel is still getting used to the idea of Chara being alive again, you can’t help but notice how much her mood has lifted. Flowey is… well, still Flowey, but he’s different from before you met Asriel. He says he hates you and everything, but you know there’s something behind it all. You can see the good in him, just like you did with Chara. And, speaking of Chara, she’s slowly warming up to you. Well, you think. You don’t expect her to recover from everything she’s been through in such a short period of time and start trusting you just like that, but you can see her progress. For example, she smiles (real smiles!!) a lot more now, which is something in particular you’ve observed. She’s even opening up to you, just like she said she would. It’s all in the little things; she tells you things she doesn’t tell Toriel. She has conversations with you that are specific to just the two of you; things that she couldn’t talk about with other people. Things that only her soulmate would understand. Living with these people you hold so close to your heart and watching them grow and heal has enabled you to forget about the troubles outside of this house. Here, it’s... it’s kinda like your own little world. You don’t want to leave it.

Unfortunately though, today that’s exactly what you have to do.

You’re not sure precisely what you’re doing today, but it involves going back out to the outside world and facing the outside world again.

Specifically, you’re meeting that psychologist (psychiatrist? What exactly is the difference? You don't know) today.

A big part of you doesn’t want to face reality just yet; the reality of your situation. You don’t want to talk about all of it. You don’t want to remember right now. You don’t even want to try. Because you know that if you do, your whole little world you’ve built for yourself is all going to come crumbling down.

###  _Chapter Five: Wildcard_

“Frisk… Dreemurr?”

You stand up. “Y-Yes, that’s me.”

You walk over to the door the receptionist is pointing at, and she nods at you. You go inside.

One of the reasons your mom wanted to keep you home was the media. Even though all of it still hasn’t died down, a few days had to have helped a bit. Thankfully, though, you managed to escape reporters and people who recognized you on the way here. But, you think that receptionist might’ve heard of you or something by the way she said your name.

But, maybe you’re just imagining it.

The psychologist takes off her glasses and sets them on her desk as she rises. She introduces herself, and the two of you shake hands. She keeps eye contact, but she’s not extremely intimidating. You think maybe you’ll be able to handle this.

You sit down across from her on some kind of desk chair. She crosses her legs. She’s thin, and looks around Toriel’s age. Maybe they know each other. “So, Frisk. What exactly brings you here today?”

You’re not actually sure of the true reason. Is it the things that happened in the Underground? Is it the things that happened that you don't remember that got you so hurt? Is there just one reason? Or is it everything combined? You can’t decide, so you just hold up you gesture to your bandaged body, deciding to go with that. It seems she doesn't recognize you, which is sorta odd, you suppose, but since she doesn't know about the whole breaking the barrier fiasco and everything, then you're not going to go there. It's too long of a story, and things that happened when you fell aren't really your main concern right now. You're here for your lost memories. Not what happened in the Underground. Even if you may need therapy for that. But you'd rather not mention it—at least, not right now when monsters are just coming to the surface and not much is known. You don't want to be branded as insane. All of that can be a story for another session. She raises her eyebrows, not speaking. It occurs to you that she’s waiting for you.

“I… got hurt.”

“Do you mean, that someone hurt you, or you hurt yourself?”

You hesitate for a second. She's fast. “Someone hurt me.”

She goes quiet, probably waiting for you to say something again. These silences of where people expect you to speak but you don't catch on until it becomes uncomfortable are getting too frequent. “Oh, you wanna know what happened, right?”

She crosses her legs. “Well, yes, eventually, but if you’re not comfortable with that, then you don’t have to talk about it. For now, I’m just curious how you feel.” She smiles. “It’s not a trick question, I promise.”

That catches you off guard. How you feel… You feel a lot of things about a lot of things. But towards what happened to you…? You haven’t really thought about it. Especially since you don't remember.

You tell the truth. “I’m not… sure.”

You begin to look around the room as you wait for a response. On the book shelves, you see a few diagnostic manuals, pharmacological volumes, journals, self help books, and things of that type. You easily get bored of that. But as you continue to scan that room, you find that it's hardly decorated at all. There's a few stacks of paper on a desk near a window in addition to a laptop and a coffee cup with a few jars of supplies such as pens and pencils. There are a few pictures hanging, but they're all just art. From where you're sitting, it doesn't look like there's even any pictures of the psychologist's family on her desk. Even the walls are painted a grey.  Nothing interesting or unusual. It could be anyone’s office. There’s no personality.

You look back to her to see her studying you. “You don’t want to be here, do you?”

_She really is fast._

You don’t speak, not sure of what to say. You don't want to be rude, but it's not like you _do_ want to stay in here. Aren't therapy rooms supposed to be like... warm and inviting? It feels like you're being interrogated talking in here. It doesn't make you feel too much like opening up. She stands up, walking towards the door and motioning for you to follow. “Me neither. This place is quite bland, isn’t it? What do you say we take a walk?”

She leaves the office, not really waiting for you. After a moment of sitting in disbelief, you get up, running after her.

She takes you outside. It’s sort of cold, but not too bad. Probably around late forties to early fifties. Although, the fact that the sun is shrouded by clouds doesn’t help.

“I don’t… remember a lot,” you state, falling into a steady pace beside her.

“Okay,” she says easily, “then let’s start with what you do remember.”

You nod. Taking a deep breath, you tell her about the men in black with guns that didn’t know your real last name, and the form they had. Then, you mention waking up in a hospital with no clue of what happened.

She pauses before answering. “Was last night the first time you’ve been in a hospital?”

You blink. She sounds more like a lawyer than a psychologist. “Yes.”

“How long were you there for?”

“I… was unconscious for a while, but I know that after I woke up I was there for a little less than a week.” It occurs to you that you were actually comatose for those first few days, but your mouth won’t form the word “coma”.

“Do you remember how you got hurt?”

You force yourself to keep walking. You want to say that you don’t remember, but for some reason, it embarasses you that you can’t remember the most important parts. So, you don’t say anything.

“It’s okay, Frisk,” she says, glancing over at you. “You don’t have to tell me.”

You take another deep breath. The words finally come. “I… don’t remember.”

She nods, a blonde strand of hair falling onto her forehead. “Okay.”

You look at her. “Okay?” you repeat, “Just… Just like that?”

She smiles softly. Her blue eyes are kind. “Just like that.” There’s another silence before she continues. You weren't expecting that. You thought that she would try to force the answers out of you. Doesn't she need information to work with you? Shouldn't that annoy her? “Sometimes, the mind has a way of protecting us from things until we’re ready to deal with them, which is probably why you don’t remember a lot.”

You stare at the ground. “I think that I’m ready to deal with it,” you ~~lie~~ say. “I need to be.”

“And that’s fine. When did this all happen?”

You think for a moment. It’s hard for you to keep track of time. “Maybe about… three, four weeks ago? I just got out of the hospital last week.”

She seems surprised now. “That’s pretty recent.”

You nod. Looking back, the office building she works in looks bland from the outside, too.

This conversation could go a hundred of different ways. You could RESET, and each time you got here it would be something different each time. This woman is being paid to listen to you—to talk to you. It’s her job. Just a job. When she goes home, she probably has a family. And then she won't be a psychologist anymore. Someone else. A mother, perhaps. And she won't even think about you until the next time you see her.

“Can I ask _you_ something?” you stare out into the horizon. The sun’s coming out now.

She looks at you questioningly but doesn’t deny your request. “Sure, Frisk, if you feel like that will help you.”

“Why did you choose to become a psychologist? Or, rather, a psychiatrist, I suppose.”

She seems to think about it for a little while. “I had a few jobs before this," she says, after the few beats of silence, "I guess I became an agent to catch the bad guys. That’s always been the focus, hasn’t it? The perpetrator. But, the more cases I worked, the more I realized that the punishment never really mattered. Or, it was never enough. No one was thinking about the victims. This is better than being working with law enforcement. I can impact people’s lives without shooting at them.”

You stop walking. Her words stick with you—she wants to help people. “What if I told you that I’m trying to help people?”

She stops too. “I would say that’s a noble impulse.”

“Without knowing the details?”

“Maybe I do know, in a way.”

You almost laugh. “Maybe? But, I doubt it. It’s, um, quite complicated.”

She nods, sharing a quiet titter and then moving onto something else. “How do you sleep?”

“Not so great,” you admit.

“Do you have nightmares?”

“I have before, but not recently. I don’t remember any of the dreams I’ve had in the past few days.” You pause. “ _Will_ I have nightmares about it? I… I don’t want to be crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” she says. “But yes, that’s quite common.”

“Even though I don’t remember it?”

She begins walking again, but this time back towards the office building. “Any of it?”

You feel the urge to rake your hands through your hair, but resist it. You don’t know what kind of signal it would send, and you don’t want to send the wrong one. “If I told you anything close to the truth... you’d think I was a crazy person and have me locked up.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not here as some kind of field agent, Frisk. Even if I was in the past. I'm not anymore. I’m not here to solve any crimes. I’m just here to help you process your experience. I mean, if you tell me something that could help the Bureau find who did this to you, I’ll pass that on. But, apart from that, I’m not here for them. I’m here for you.”

You glance up at her, but still say nothing. You're just... so surprised. This isn't going the way you thought it would. She's so  _nice_. And caring. She vaguely reminds you of Toriel, even. She's not berating you or pressuring you or threatening to go to the police or asking about your scars or asking you to push up your shirt so she could see just how many you have and just how bad they are, she's just... 

Talking to you. Like a friend. 

“I think you are starting to remember it,” she says, once again filling the silence. “Or, you will. Slowly, and in a way that it doesn’t hurt your mind too much to process.”

You play with the hem of your shirt. In a way that doesn't hurt your mind too much to process. You could handle that, you think. But you really just hope that she is right about it. You feel like there's a possibility that... you could go crazy or something. But, if that's what she thinks, then she's probably right. You feel yourself calm down a bit and become more rational. “So then, what do you think I should do?”

“First, have compassion…” she smiles, reaching out to gingerly touch your shoulder which you initially flinch at, but eventually give into, “for yourself. You’ve been through something no one is equipped to deal with. Admit that. And second… just simplify your life. The same way you would if you’d been in something like a car crash. You just have to take the time you need to heal.”

You shake your head. No, no, you don't _have_ that kind of time. You need to heal now and quick because you have a job to do. You can't waste the time you have on yourself. 

“I can’t do that," you say desperately, "What if—what if I just need to remember?”

“I understand. More than you know. But it’s not something you can force. Your mind is already working on it, in its own way.”

You sigh and let that sit with you for a while. It’s not something you can force, she says. So, you may not actually remember anything until years later or something. Great. That's just great. 

Well, actually, as you think about it— sarcasm aside—maybe that  _is_ a good thing. You be an Ambassador now, and deal with all of this later. You don't have time for it now. At least, you have to ensure some sort of peace and safety for monsters on the Surface, and then you can deal with whatever happened to you. You just hope that by "later" she means not in another few days or something. 

The two of you reach the office building, and another thing abruptly crosses your mind. 

“No drugs?” you ask, and then promptly thank her for holding the doors for you.

“Well, I do usually prescribe medication to be used in conjunction with therapy. But it’s your choice. I can recommend you to a psychologist if you don’t want to pursue medication just yet, or we can give it a try. See how you do.”

Oh. So you guess there is a difference.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll think about it.”

More like talk to Chara about it and what she thinks, but that and thinking by yourself are similar enough, right?

“Do you think it’ll help, though?”

“On its own?" she questions you this time. "Maybe. But with cognitive behavioral therapy, chances are higher that you’d feel better sooner, although it’s definitely a long-term process.”

“Cognitive behavioral therapy?” It sounds familiar, but you don’t know exactly what it is. It's like one of those times where you know how to use a word but not how to explain it to someone., 

“It changes your way of thinking about things. How to deal with what happened to you. What you’re feeling. It will also help with nightmares,” She explains, unlocking the door to her office. She grabs a pad of paper and writes something on it. She tears the piece off and hands it to you. “Of course, it'll also help you remember. Have your mother fill this out. If you want to take it, great. If not, that’s okay too. It might not kick in for a few weeks, though. Or it might kick in a few days after you start. It’s different for everyone.” Her eyes flicker to a calendar in the room. “Can you meet next Tuesday?”

You rub the back of your neck. You have no idea what you schedule is. “I’m not sure. Probably not.”

She gives you an understanding nod. “Helping people?”

You return it. “Helping people.”

“Well, try to watch the stress,” she says, then shrugs. “At least, as much as you can. PTSD episodes tend to be triggered by moments of it. And call me when you do find the time.” She hands you her card. “It was nice to meet you, Frisk. I’m glad you came in.”

 _PTSD_...

You try not to think about it too much. After all, you really didn't go into detail about things that happened. How bad can it be? How could she know that you may have PTSD when you barely gave her any information? 

Well, all in all, you guess everything went well. Even if you didn't really get anywhere. You can always come back. This was a good start. You're pretty satisfied with it. At least, she was really nice to you. And, after everything, you appreciate that a lot.

“Thanks,” you call to her on the way out. And you mean it.

 

 

 

 

As soon as you get home, you pull out the prescription paper you had put in you pocket and head to Chara’s room. The door’s closed. You knock.

And knock again.

You get no answer both times.

“Chara?” you call out, thinking about knocking once more but end up just dropping your hand back at your side. You don’t want to annoy her. “Are you in there?”

“Behind you.”

You jump, whipping around at the sudden attack on your sides. “Gosh, Chara, don’t scare me like that.”

She chuckles, then notices the paper in your hand. “Hm? What’s that?” You hand it to her. “How did therapy go?”

“Good,” you say honestly. “We didn't really get anywhere, though. Too much to get into for just one short session.”

“Yeah,” Chara agrees, eyes scanning over the paper. Her grows tense.

Curiously, you walk behind her to read it as well. “Zyprexa,” you read it out loud. “What is it? Some kind of antidepressant?”

She shakes her head, and your mouth goes dry.

“It’s an antipsychotic.”

 

 

 

You’re not sure what to think when there’s a knock at the door later that night.

You’re sitting in your room, alone, which hasn’t really been a normal occurrence for you ever since you moved in here.

You look over at Flowey, but he just stares back at you, not offering any advice or protest. Curiously, you get up and make your way to the staircase, stopping when you hear voices. It’s Toriel. Whoever it is, she’s welcoming them into your home. It doesn’t sound like anything bad, so you go back to your room and pick up the book you were reading.

And then, after what you think is an hour or so, someone knocks on _your_ door.

But, it’s not the guest who came in earlier. It’s Toriel.

“Mom? Is everything okay?” you ask, slightly concerned at the expression on her face. She quickly nods.

“Yes, my child. Everything is… well, you will see. Do you mind coming downstairs for a moment? I need to have a talk with you.”

“Oh… sure, mom.” Shutting your door behind you, you follow her downstairs. “Nothing like, really bad happened right?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s just…” she doesn’t finish her sentence, walking into the kitchen. Chara’s already sitting in there, glancing up at the two of you. Toriel doesn’t seem to mind her presence, which eases your worry a bit. If she doesn’t care if someone else is in the room, then it’s not a private thing. Which means it can’t possibly be _that_ serious... Right?

Toriel sits you down at the kitchen table. You cross your arms, playing with the bandages on your fingers. What exactly could this be about? She takes a deep breath. “Your presence was requested at a party in New York. They want you to do a speech there and answer questions,” she explains, and you let out the breath you were holding. Everything is fine. Just a speech and a party. Normal Ambassador things. “Frisk, I know that you agreed to be the Ambassador, but… I urge you to think about this before you make a decision. I… I will not be able to take you,” oh, that’s right. Toriel has been quite busy lately trying to get a job as a teacher at this new “mixed” school that’s opening a few minutes away. "Mixed" meaning a school containing both monsters and humans. But, if she isn’t able to take you, who will…?

...And now you see the problem with it.

“I do not want you to go alone. It is not safe. And I most definitely do not want someone I do not know driving you there,” you nod slowly, staring at the table. You really should do this, though. You need to. You haven’t done anything to help the peaceful integration of monsters or to ensure their rights so something like what happened to you doesn’t happen to any of them. Even if you were to miss out on this one opportunity, it could have deadly consequences.

“I’ll take her.”

Suddenly, Chara’s at the table, pulling out a chair next to you and across from Toriel. “I’ll take her.” she repeats. There’s a... DETERMINED look in her eyes.

Toriel looks surprised. “Chara, I’m not sure if that’s the best idea—”

“Mom,” she smiles gently, “I can take care of Frisk. I took care of her the whole time when we were in the Underground, remember? I know what she needs. And, if anything bad happens to her, and for some reason I happen to not be there, then I’ll know, wherever I am or whatever time it is. I know Frisk better than anyone, mom. I can protect her. I promise you I won’t let anyone hurt her.”

Toriel sighs. “I just do not want anything to happen to you, Frisk. Neither to you, Chara.”

Chara reaches out and gently takes your hand. “We’ll be fine. I care about Frisk just as much as you do. And I definitely can defend myself. You know that.” Toriel goes quiet, and you can tell she’s thinking it over. Chara continues to help her decide in your favor. “Frisk really needs to go. If she doesn’t… what if another war breaks out in the meantime? We need her to convince everyone that monsters are safe.”

“...Alright. I’ll think about it,” she says, but by the tone of her voice you know that Chara’s already won her over. Toriel looks back to you. “Ultimately, though, it is your decision.”

You smile, nodding rapidly. “I’m totally fine with Chara taking me! If she takes me, then I won’t be alone, either!”

Toriel smiles as well, standing up. “I’m glad that the two of you are so close.”

You can tell Chara's a bit embarrassed by that statement, and looks like she wants to argue, but Torel walks over and kisses you both on the forehead and any desire to say anything to refute her statement instantly disappears. “Goodnight, my children. Do not stay up too late.”

“Goodnight, mom!” you and Chara say in unison. She walks off and you can hear her door closing. You look at Chara questioningly.

“You really want to take me?” you ask, standing up and pushing in your chair.

“You think I’m going to let you leave me that easily?” she stands up too. “Besides, I went to New York once a long, long time ago, and I’ve always wanted to go back since. We... have to stay together, don't we?”

You beam at her. “Right!” you jump forward and hug her tightly. “You’re amazing, Chara! You really are!”

“Again, Frisk?” she says in an exasperated tone, but you can feel her hug you back. “I wouldn’t let you go alone, anyway.”

You’re not sure how long you stay in her embrace, but you know you never want to let go. You feel safe like this, in Chara’s arms. Safe and happy. She’s so warm and if you were told you only had a day left to live you’d spend the whole twenty-four hours hugging her if you could. You really like hugs, but out of all the people you have gotten the chance to hug, Chara is without a doubt the best.

Of course, you may just think that because she’s one of the best person you’ve ever met and you adore her above just about everyone else, but who knows.

Eventually, you do have to let go—much to your dismay—and you and Chara say your goodnights and you go back to your room. Turning off the lights, you fall onto your bed. There’s a giddy feeling that tingles all over your body that you can’t get rid of. You’ve always kind of gotten it whenever you’re around Chara. Heck, you get it by just _seeing_ her. Even when you first met, and you were slightly afraid of her you felt it. And, when you hug her, or when she compliments you or anything like that, it gets exceptionally more distinct. It’s always accompanied by an extremely fast heartbeat, too. It’s weird; you like it, it’s a nice feeling, but what _is_ it?

You sometimes feel it around Sans and Flowey, and you’re pretty sure you felt it when you saw the real Asriel. But, it’s always there when you’re with Chara. That probably means something, but you’re not going to try to figure it out. At least, not tonight.

For now, you just know that you like all of them a lot. Them meaning Sans, Flowey and Asriel both, and of course Chara. They’re the best parts of your life. You know that for sure.

But, you have the trip to think about.

You’re looking forward to it. You’ll go to New York, somewhere you’ve never been but always fantasized about going to, alone, with Chara. Just the two of you. In a hotel together. Or, if you have somewhere else to stay down there, then you’ll be there. But it’ll just be you and Chara.

You can’t wait.

You hope it’s soon. You may just die of excitement if it’s for a while yet. You’re going to go somewhere. With probably your favorite person ever. How lucky _are_ you?

You have to bury your face in your pillow to keep yourself from giggling like a little girl. You know that would really irritate Flowey. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down and clear your thoughts so you can sleep.

But, you end up staying up the whole night daydreaming about Chara the whole night anyway.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe sort of a filler chapter again oops  
> But! This begins the actual plot, which is why it's kind of short. Lol, shit's about to go down =)  
> So basically I probably won't update for a while because I have to go back to school Monday and. Well, school is school. But I get off at the end of May, so if updates are slow, they won't be for a while.  
> I was gonna ask for kudos or something like that but then I remembered yesterday I woke up at five in the morning on accident and the first thought that came to my mind was "Kudos me daddy" so I'll just leave everyone with that


	6. Fortress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You look at her for a little longer before speaking. “I won’t let you starve,” you whisper, because you’re so close to her that it feels wrong to speak too loudly. She seems taken off guard, and you know no one’s ever told her anything like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cOUGHS LOUDLY I'm not dead!!!!! Sorry this took so long. Originally, I had a chapter ready in probably like mid May, but then it was sort of filler so I wanted to double-update again, but then,,,, thiNgs happened. I won't really get into it since it's a lot of bs and I don't feel like getting heated again. On the bright side, I'm out of school now thank fucking g o d and here's like three chapters because of my absence lol (although, they may be spread throughout the next few hours)
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in chara's pov.

You wake up early today.

Not purposefully or anything. Normally, you wake up once or twice and go back to sleep before actually getting up once and for all, but today, you get up the first time you open your eyes. Your first thought was something along the lines of, “if I get up now, then I’ll be up before Toriel, which means that I’ll be able to make Frisk breakfast!” and you kind of hated yourself for it, but you still scrambled out of bed and almost fell as soon as the idea came to mind.

And now, you’re fixing Frisk breakfast.

You weren’t sure exactly what she would want, so you went with something pretty safe; pancakes. Yeah, it’s not anything extravagant, but you know that you’re not gonna burn the house down trying to make it. You’ve never been that skilled at cooking, but Toriel has taught you a few things, so you know how to make quite a few simple dishes, at the least. One of them being pancakes.

Frisk ends up getting up fairly early as well. You should’ve known. Whenever one of you gets up, it’s not long before the other follows.

She yawns, still looking half asleep as she walks into the kitchen. Her hair is disheveled and looks fluffier than normal, and the white blouse you gave her that she wears to sleep is partially unbuttoned and riding up her stomach, showing a bit of pale skin. It takes her a moment to notice you, but when she does, she jerks up in surprise.

“Oh! G-Good morning. You startled me.” she greets you sleepily, slowly trudging over to you and looking over your shoulder. “Are you making breakfast today?”

“Yeah,” you say, directing your eyes back to the stove, “Mom isn’t up yet, so I thought I’d do it myself.”

“I could’ve done it tooooo,” Frisk whines, leaning onto the counter and looking at you. “Do you want me to help?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” you give her a quick glance. She can barely keep her eyes open. “You’re not even awake yet.”

She starts to argue but then stops herself. “Yeah, you’re right.” She walks off, and you think that she’s going to leave, but then you feel her arms wrap around your waist. “Thanks, Chara.”

Heat rushes to your face. You can feel her body pressing against yours… her clothes are awfully thin. She’s really soft…

She slowly pulls back, brushing her hand lightly over your shoulder before beginning to set the table. Honestly, you should be used to Frisk’s constant hugs by now, considering even in the Underground when she couldn’t actually touch you she’d try to hug you. But, maybe that’s just it; you didn’t truthfully _feel_ touch. It was just a distant echo of what you once could feel. It wasn’t _real_. But, now it is. And, now you’ll definitely have to get used to real touch.  Real hugs. But, for some reason, it isn’t a bad thought. Not at all.

You finish, bringing the freshly made food over to the kitchen table where Frisk is sitting. “Do you think we should wake mom up?”

You shake your head, sitting down across from her. “She’ll wake up soon. We both got up pretty early.”

Frisk hums, leaning her head on her hands and messing with the tablecloth. You pause, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at her. Her skin is paler than normal, and her cheeks appear slightly flushed. She looks tired. Fatigued. You can tell that she needs to eat. But, she doesn’t make any sorts of movements toward the food; instead, she just sits there silently, staring at the table with a blank expression.

“Frisk?” you ask, and she jumps slightly, blinking rapidly and directing her gaze towards you. “Are you okay?”

She only gives you a nod in response.

Frisk is normally quiet, but something here feels a bit off.

You get up from your chair, pushing it in and walking over to Frisk. You sit down in the seat next to her and cut off a piece of one of the pancakes with her fork, lifting it up to her face. She immediately reddens when she realizes what you’re doing.

“Ch-Chara?”

You gesture towards the fork, pushing it closer to her mouth. “Eat.”

She blinks, moving back a bit. “I-It’s okay, Chara, I’m not—”

“Yeah, you’re not hungry. Whatever. I’ve heard that before.” You stand up, stepping over her legs so that you’re straddling her lap to give yourself better access. “When will you learn that you can’t lie to me?”

She pushes herself all the way to the back of the chair, laughing nervously to ease the tension she’s created herself. “R-Really, it’s fine—”

You nudge the fork against her lips, effectively silencing her. You shift towards her so your faces are inches apart. Now that you’re this close, you can get a better look at her. Her eyes are wide, and her pupils are dilated. She looks a lot more awake now. Her cheeks are dusted with a light shade of pink that’s even more pronounced on her slightly paler than normal skin. You hold her gaze, and even though she’s embarrassed, she doesn’t look away. There’s quite a few emotions in her eyes, but it’s hard to decipher exactly what they are. Surprise is one that you can easily pick out, but she also seems slightly fearful. You don’t know what kind of conditions she used to live in, but you can say for sure that they weren’t good. For her to be so afraid to eat… what would she have to had gone through to become this way?

You look at her for a little longer before speaking. “I won’t let you starve,” you whisper, because you’re so close to her that it feels wrong to speak too loudly. She seems taken off guard, and you know no one’s ever told her anything like that. You notice her lips are parted partially, and you take the opportunity to push the fork into her mouth.

She instantly begins coughing, and you almost feel bad for doing that in the way you did, but then she swallows and she’s fine.

You move back slightly, still not breaking eye contact with her. But, she ends up breaking it herself, directing her gaze to the floor. Her blush darkens. “I-It’s good, Chara…”

You smile. You never considered yourself an exceptionally good cook, so it feels nice to have Frisk’s approval. After all, you _did_ cook this just for her.

You move to get another piece, but this time, you don’t feed it to Frisk. You eat it yourself.

Frisk gapes at you in shock. “Th-That was just in my mouth!” she practically screams, and you smirk at her.

“Really?” you ask with fake ignorance. You move back close to her. “Maybe that’s why it tasted so sweet.”

She covers her face with her hands in embarrassment, and you laugh. _Cute_. Normally, you’d leave the flirting to her, the goddess of flirting she is, but sometimes you just can’t help yourself. Especially when the reactions you get out of her are just so amusing and adorable.

You gently take Frisk’s hands away from her face, getting another piece of pancake and slip it into her mouth for the second time. This time she expects it, easily accepting the food you put into her mouth while weakly looking up at you.

“...I just indirectly made out with you,” she declares quietly, and then realizes the meaning of her words and covers her face again, groaning into her palms.

Once again, you uncover Frisk’s face and give her another fork-full of pancake. And, even though she’s embarrassed and still probably a little scared for reasons you don’t know, she lets you. You continue to feed her until you can tell she’s actually not hungry anymore. She’s still blushing and nervous but she looks a lot better and a lot less fatigued.

You sit back and watch her for a moment. She won’t look at you. A small smile tugs on the corners of your mouth as you reach out and touch her cheek, willing her to bring her gaze back up to you. When she does, you lightly run your fingers across her soft skin, delighting in the look of adoration and trust she gives you. Frisk is delicate. So, so delicate. Whenever you touch her, you feel as though if you’re too careless, she’ll break. You could break her. And, Frisk knows that. You know she knows. But she trusts you anyway, with all of her soul. Even after everything you’ve done to her, she trusts you with her life.

You’ll help her, you decide, cupping her face in the palm of your hand. Whatever happened to her in the past, you’ll save her from it. You’ll get her back to good health. You’ll protect her with every fiber of your being.

For a moment, you forget about everything else but the two of you. You become engrossed with Frisk; the way she’s looking at you. How she reacts to your touch. How her skin feels against your hand. How green her eyes look in this lighting. How she’s normally quite cold, but with you on top of her and so close to her she feels so hot under you. There’s nothing else. It’s just you and Frisk.

You’re so caught up with her and the thought of her, in fact, that you don’t notice the sound of approaching footsteps from outside the room.

“Chara? Frisk?” Mom stands at the doorway, looking at the two of you with a surprised expression. “Am I interrupting something? Shall I go into the other room?”

Your hand falls back to your side, and you shake you head, slowly pushing yourself off of Frisk’s lap. “No, it’s alright. We were just…” you smirk, glancing down at Frisk, whose hand stops reaching for you in midair as soon as you look at her, “...talking.”

“Talking,” mom repeats, still seeming confused. You nod.

“Talking.”

She doesn’t question it any further, so you gesture to the food on the table. “I made pancakes. Don’t you want some?”

Mom smiles, walking towards the two of you. “I would love to, Chara, but I’m afraid Frisk will not be able to join us. She has a visitor.”

Frisk stands up, lingering behind you as if she’s hiding behind you. “A… visitor?”

Mom nods, motioning for Frisk to follow her. She turns to you. “Please excuse us, my child. We will only be a few minutes. You may join us if you like.”

“Oh… no thanks,” you say, sitting back down. You don’t feel like being social right now. “I’ll just stay here.”

Frisk holds your gaze for a moment, her cheeks still a shade of light pink. You smile at her, signaling for her to go on with you hand. She nods and turns around, quickly running after mom, and you laugh to yourself. Her reaction to being so close to you was just too cute. You find yourself wanting to touch her again, to go further, just to see her give you more looks like that.

You quickly realize that reality of your thoughts, and you instantly bury them in the deepest corners of your mind, slamming your head onto the table in an attempt to help with the process. Just what do you think “further” means? How are you even thinking about things like _that_? Where did those kind of thoughts even come from?

You hear the distant sound of Frisk’s voice, and you shake your head to rid _those_ thoughts from your head once and for all. Getting up, you curiously walk to the location of the voices, stopping just outside of the room before anyone can actually see you. Even though you really don’t want anything to do with this so called “visitor”, you are curious to who it is.

You immediately notice the bright colors and flashy clothing.

 _Wait._..

_Is that…?!_

Frisk begins to walk towards you, and you quickly jump back, speed walking a safe distance away.

 _Why the hell is_ he _here?_

###  _Chapter Six: Fortress_

So, apparently, Mettaton is in town.

And, _apparently,_ he heard about that party you’re going to attend and is going to take you out to buy you a dress.

_Why does this not seem like a good idea in the slightest bit?_

You laugh nervously, backing up to the exit of the room. “U-Um, M-Mettaton, don’t you think, um, I could just borrow something of Toriel’s? I mean, I don’t really want you to have to spend money on me or anything…”

“Nonsense, darling!” he gushes, smiling at you. “Really, I insist! This is your first official appearance to the public. You have to make a good impression!”

“Y-Yeah, you’re right, but, um…” you slowly inch towards the doorway, calculating your escape route. “I think that I… already have something planned today…”

And then, you sprint into the next room, screaming Chara’s name at the top of your lungs.

You find her still in the kitchen, washing her hands. She pauses, turning around and  looking at you with a dumbfounded expression.

“Frisk, what—?”

You slip behind her, standing on your tiptoes and grasping her shoulders so you can see over them. “Frisk?”

“Shh,” you whisper, “there’s someone after me!” you gasp when he enters the room, lowering your head and resting against her back. “He’s here!”

She looks up, not appearing even the slightest bit surprised. “Oh. Him,” There’s not a shred of sympathy in her tone. “He’s who you’re so afraid of?”

You nod rapidly, trying to make yourself disappear behind her, but she promptly moves out of the way.

“Looking for Frisk?” she offers a smile, gesturing towards you. “She’s all yours.”

Your jaw drops. You feel completely and utterly _betrayed_. Mettaton returns the smile, walking over to you and messing up your hair. “Thank you, um…”

“We have not met,” she sticks her arm out for him to shake it. “I am Chara.”

He begins to introduce himself, but Chara stops him. “Yeah, I already know who you are.”

He smirks. “Oh? You’ve heard of me?”

She smirks back. “You could say that.”

“Hm, I can’t say I’m surprised,” he flips his hair in an exaggerated manner. “I mean, who _hasn’t_ heard of me?”

You begin moving towards the living room, trying to get away again while they’re talking, but, unfortunately, Mettaton notices you and pulls you towards him.

“Not so fast now, dear,” he says in a rather demeaning tone, and you make a face at him. “I think the two of us have somewhere to be.”

“No we don’t,” you reach for Chara with pleading eyes. “Please don’t let him take me.”

She shrugs, going back to what she was doing before you ran in screaming bloody murder. “Just have her back by six for dinner.”

You drop your arm back to your side. Until _six_ in the evening? That’s like, _seven hours_! “Of course! It was nice to meet you!”

When you won’t come, he scoops you up, putting you over his shoulder like some kind of _bag._ Still, you resist, hitting his back and calling for Chara.

“ _Chara!_ He’s _kidnapping_ me!"

“Have fun, Frisk!” she sings from the kitchen, only sparing you a halfhearted wave. You scream, struggling harder against his grip as he nears the door.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he assures you, patting you on the back, “by the time I’m done with you, you’ll look like a Victoria's Secret Fashion Show model!”  
You go limp in defeat, resting your head against his back and sighing loudly. You can already tell today is going to be a _very long day._

 

 

 

You spend the next few hours following Mettaton while he takes you around a large mall that contains high-end brands you’ve only seen celebrities wear. This time, however, you don’t have the luck of not being recognized. You blame Mettaton for that. It would be one thing if it was just you on your own, but with Mettaton being a TV star and you being all over the news, it’s only inevitable that the two of you will be recognized if you’re together. You don’t mind, though; although it is quite flustering to you, it’s not something you can help. You’re happy to strike a conversation with these people, and more than willing to give them your autograph. You just don’t think you deserve this sort of attention.

You’re not sure how many places you’ve been too when you finally find a dress that seems like the one suited for the party.

“Do you like it?” he asks you. You don’t answer for a while, picking up the excess fabric of the dress that drapes onto the floor, slowly spinning around while observing yourself in the full-bodied mirror in front of you. Out of the countless dresses you’ve tried on, you have to say that this is probably the best you’ve seen. It’s red and strapless, embroidered with roses on the lower half. The fabric is really soft. It’s probably silk. It hugs your body tightly, making it seem like you actually have some curves on your thin body. If you’re going to be completely honest, it looks a lot more like a wedding dress rather than just something you’d wear to a party. But, you’re not complaining; it’s still a beautiful and beats all of the others by a long shot. And, considering some of the other dresses you’ve tried on, that’s saying something.

“Y-Yes,” you finally reply, pulling at the fabric a bit as you turn to him. “Does it really look okay?”

He nods. “Stunning, darling,” he says in the most gentle tone you’ve ever heard him use, “It looks stunning on you.”

Your face burns, and you turn around again, looking down at your reflection. He tells you to go and change so he can buy it for you, and you don’t hesitate to follow his request. Although, before changing out of it and back into your clothes, you take a moment to look at it more closely. The color of it is probably the best part about it. It reminds you of Chara’s eyes.

And suddenly, your mind is back to Chara. You swear, all you do is anymore is think about her, dream about her when you’re asleep, and then think about her again when you wake up. There hasn’t been a day where she hasn’t crossed your mind at least twenty separate times. You’re beginning to think you have a problem.

“Are you sure you want to buy this for me?” you ask when you finish changing, trailing behind Mettaton slowly. You feel guilty about him having to having to buy it for you (you don’t dare to look at the price), but he quickly assures you it’s fine and it’s the least he can do. Even though he hasn’t been on the surface long—none of you have—he’s already somehow practically a billionaire. You decide that it’s best not to question it.

It’s not a surprise when the cashier recognizes the both of you. You smile sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck and conforming yes, you are Frisk, Frisk Dreemurr, the Ambassador, and yes, that is _the_ Mettaton of the Underground next to you. Luckily for you, the aforementioned carries the conversation for you, and you stand back and partially listen to them, mostly retreating back into your thoughts. It occurs to you that now, just about every time you go out it will be like this. You probably should’ve realized this earlier, like when you discovered all of those gifts for you back when you were meeting the organization, but it’s just such a strange idea. You, out of all people, famous. Being recognized by others out in public. Being admired by so many people. Being asked for your _name_ because just something as miniscule as that is so valuable to people. It’s definitely something you’ll have to get used to.

“Soooo,” you begin, picking up your pace to reach Mettaton’s side as the two of you exit the store, “are we going home now?” You feel incredibly clingy, but you already miss Chara. You’re eager to get home and see her. You don’t like being separated from her for long periods of time, you’ve noticed, even if you like and trust the person you’re with. You kind of hate yourself for being so needy and dependent on her, but you blame it on some sort of physical strain that’s put on you because of the connecting between your souls and it makes you feel a little better.

“We still have to get you shoes,” he says, and you sigh and cross your arms.

“There’s _more_?”

“Yup! Now, let’s get going!” he takes your hand, dragging you along with him. You sigh, letting yourself be pulled along. You might as well try to enjoy this, because you’re not getting out of it any time soon.

 

 

 

 

You get home just before six, waving at Mettaton and giving him one last thank you before going into the house. You struggle to open the door with all the bags you’re holding, almost dropping one or two of them each time you take a step. It’s quiet. You go up to your room unnoticed, putting your things down onto your bed and beginning to put them away. It’s not till you’re finished until Toriel comes to check in with you.

“I am sorry, my child, I did not hear you come in. Have you been home for long?” you shrug, not really knowing how long it’s been since you got back. Toriel doesn’t really care though. “You seem tired. Did it go well?”

You nod, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Mettaton insisted on buying me just about everything in every single store.”

She laughs a little at that, and so do you. Although, despite all of your complaining, you’re quite glad you went, and that you got to see him so soon after you got separated from him upon returning to the Surface.

“Well, I hate to tell you to get back up to do something else after you were out for so long, but it would probably be best if you started packing for tomorrow,” She says, and although you honestly just want to lie down and wait for dinner, you don’t give any complaints because you know she’s right. If you don’t do it now, or at least start now, you’ll end up staying up late trying to get everything together because the three of you take a while to eat dinner as you all talk so much. And, a lot of times ~~every time~~ , you follow Chara around after, trying to get her to continue to talk to you. You need to be well rested for tomorrow, considering you’ll probably leave fairly early. You nod to her to let her know you’ll do it. “Okay,” she replies, “just let me know if you need anything.” and then she leaves, and you begin to search for a suitcase to start gathering your stuff together.

You eventually find one, but it’s at the top shelf in your closet, and you can’t reach it. Sighing, you turn to Flowey, who you haven’t spoken to since this morning.

“Flowey,” you say gently in the sweetest tone you can muster, “can you get that for me?”

He glares at you, and you think he’s going to say no, but surprisingly he complies. “Bring me over there, idiot.”

You smile, carefully picking him up and walking him over to your closet. He wraps his vine around the suitcase and easily gets it down for you, placing it on the floor beside your bed. Putting him back, you, crouch down and pat him gently. “Thank you, Flowey. What would I ever do without you?”

“Die, probably,” he says in a serious tone as you begin shuffling through the few clothes that you own. You ignore that, resisting the urge to comment on how hypocritical that is of him to say considering how many times _he’s_ killed _you_.

“Why do you want to go to this thing, anyway?” he asks after a few minutes of silence. “Aren’t you just putting yourself in danger?” and then quickly adds, “I mean, not like I care or anything, but it just seems dumb.”

You stop, turning your head to glance at him. “It’s just something I have to do. Part of my job.” And then you turn back, continuing to put things into your suitcase.

“Your job is stupid,” he replies, and you can’t help but laugh at the immaturity of that response.

“What, afraid you’ll miss me?” you tease, crawling over to him and resting your head on the table so you’re at his level. His eyes widen as if you’ve told him that you’ve been pregnant with his children this whole time.

“O-Of course not! Why would I miss someone like _you_?” he doesn’t seem to realize how painfully obvious he is and that his tactic of dealing with any sort of twinge of emotion by becoming extremely defensive and insulting whoever he’s talking to is extremely easy to see behind. “I bet you’d want that, wouldn’t you?”

You push yourself off the ground, propping your elbows up on the table and resting your head on your hands. You look at him for a moment, slowly reaching a hand out to touch his petals. And then, after he doesn’t push you away with one of his vines or move away from you, you stand up completely, still leaning over the table, and tuck him into your chest, hugging him gently as to not hurt him.

“It’s only for a few days. Nothing will happen. Chara’s with me, so I’ll be safe. Everything will be fine.” you say, lightly tracing your fingers around the back of his petals. “And, don’t worry,” you close your eyes, “I haven’t forgotten about you.”

You stay like this for as long as he lets you, only pulling back when he does. He stares at you with hard eyes and a frown, but his tone doesn’t match his expression when he says, “J-Just… finish packing, Frisk.”

You smile, pulling away and dropping back onto the floor by your suitcase. “Okay.” And you know by the look on his face that held no trace of confusion whatsoever that he knew exactly what you meant.


	7. The City that Never Sleeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You thought it wasn’t that rare for kids to have never been to hotels, but from Chara’s reaction, it appears it is. Was your childhood actually a lot different than everyone else’s and you just never realized?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter starts in frisk's pov.

"Chara?” you knock on her door quietly, shifting the weight of your bag from one shoulder to the other. It’s fairly early, but it’s around the time mom had told you to be ready to leave. You wait for a moment for a response, turning to look out of the window. It’s still not exactly light outside, but a thick sheet of clouds cover the sky, so it’s hard to tell. You can see faint sunlight bleeding through from the top of the horizon, staining its surroundings pink and yellow. You vaguely recall that rhyme, “Pink sky at morning, sailors take warning; Pink sky at night, sailors delight”, indicating that it may be bad weather today. But, the weather is unaccountable for, and the trip cannot be delayed. Last time you checked, it wasn’t _supposed_ to be bad outside today. But, even if it is, you’ll probably manage to escape the worst of it as you’re driving far away from here. Hopefully.

You turn back to the door, knocking once more and getting no answer for a second time. Maybe she’s already downstairs…?

You walk down the hallway, planning to go see, but before you can reach the staircase, someone grabs you by the waist.

“H-Huh—?!”

“Good morning, Frisk.”

You slowly relax in the arms around you upon realizing it’s just Chara, turning around to see her smirking at you. You sigh in relief.

“Good morning to you too,” you murmur, your heart still pulsing in your chest. “One of these days I swear you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

She shrugs, releasing you and leaning on her suitcase with a smile on her face. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, I was just looking for you,” you reply, lifting the strap of your bag higher onto your shoulder. “But, we should probably check in with mom first. I don’t think she would take it so well if she woke up and both of her kids were suddenly gone.”

“Me neither,” Chara agrees, starting down the stairs and gesturing for you to follow. “I’m pretty sure I heard her wake up and go downstairs.”

You follow Chara into the kitchen, where, sure enough, Toriel is sitting with a cup of coffee. She stands up when the two of you walk in the room.

“Morning,” you say to her with a smile, slipping your bag off of your shoulder and onto a nearby chair. She smiles back.

“Good morning,” she bends down a little so she’s not towering over you so much. “Do you have everything that you will need?”

“Mhmm,” you answer, “I didn’t really have much to pack.”

She nods understandingly, reaching in her pocket and taking her wallet out. “Just in case you happen to need anything else,” she hands you a thick bundle of cash, “take this.”

You stare at it blankly, leafing through the papers. “Th-This is a lot… are you sure?”

She strands up straight again, putting her wallet away. “Yes, Frisk. I trust you.”

You look down, brushing your hair out of your face. “Thank you… mom.”

She then opens her arms out for you, and you promptly accept the hug, wrapping your arms around her waist, the highest part of her you can reach comfortably. You always feel shorter than ever when you’re hugging her, but, to be fair, she’s abnormally tall compared to most people, so she has an unfair advantage. She embraces you tightly, patting your back and smoothing down your shirt, and suddenly all of your worries disappear and you feel completely at ease. You swear, her hugs and Chara’s hugs are the best hugs you’ve ever received from anyone.

The two of you pull back, and she runs a hand along your hair. “Have fun, alright? I am still very sorry I could not come.”

You smile, grasping her hand and resting it against your cheek. “Really, it’s fine, mom. I’ll have Chara text you what channel my speech will be on as soon as we find out.” She drops her hands, but you still hold on to one of them. “Good luck with your job. I love you, mom.”

She squeezes your hand, looking at you with an indescribable warmth in her eyes. “I love you too, my child.”

She lets go, turning to Chara, who’s been fixing herself tea while you and Toriel have been talking. “Chara,” Toriel begins, and she stops, putting the mug in her hands down and facing the two of you, “keep Frisk safe, alright? And, keep yourself safe too.”

Chara nods, giving her a determined smile. “Yes, mother. I will.”

She drinks the last of her tea and grabs her suitcase. “Ready?”

You pick up your bag, too, walking over to stand next to her. “Ready.”

You both bid Toriel your last goodbyes, and then you’re off, on your way to New York City, the city that never sleeps.

###  _Chapter Seven: The City that Never Sleeps_

You wake up to Chara calling your name.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but when you did, it was still daytime. Now, the sun is nowhere to be seen, replaced with city lights. You quickly straighten up, turning to look at your surroundings. “Is… Is this it?”

“Yeah,” Chara replies, and you can feel her gaze on you. “We’re here.”

She gets out of the car, and you do the same, instantly overtaken by the sight before you. Countless of monolithic towers and dramatically lit skyscrapers stand before you, making you feel tinier than you already normally feel. Neon lights and advertisement boards stand where the buildings do not. Flickering lights of white, reds, and blues that fit together perfectly like a jigsaw puzzle. Each and every corner is practically throbbing with activity; not one part of it is bland in any way. The air smells of the scent of cigars and cigarettes that blends with the fume of vehicles. There’s music everywhere, drowned out by the sound of cars. And there’s people. So many people. It’s all so much that it’s almost suffocating, but despite how chaotic it is, there’s something strangely calming about it at the same time.

It’s beautiful.

Chara laughs gently from beside you, and you snap back to reality, turning to look at her.

“What?” you ask, glancing around the two of you to try to find what she’s so entertained by, but nothing seems particularly out of the ordinary.

“Nothing,” she replies, brushing her hair back and out of her face and your heart speeds up, “you just looked so cute, all in complete awe like that.”

She then tosses you your bag, and you catch it, shoving it on your shoulder. You stare at the ground, your face heating up as you process her words. Cute. She thinks you’re cute. Chara Dreemurr thinks you’re cute. You can’t believe it.

You begin to walk towards the hotel, syncing your steps with Chara’s. She suddenly grabs your wrist, and you think something’s wrong, but she simply slips her hand into yours, pulling you closer to her.

“There’s a lot of people here,” she explains calmly, despite the slight pink on her face, “stay close to me, okay? New York can be dangerous at night.”

You nod, too distracted to give her a vocal answer. Your shoulders are touching, lightly brushing up against each other as you walk. Just from this proximity, you can still feel her warmth. You smile. You’re holding hands with Chara. You can die happy now.

The hotel is a lot warmer than it is outside. Chara begins talking to woman to check in while you to look around. A fountain in the center of the lobby filled with flowers catches your eye. Do most hotels have fountains? Or is this just a really nice one? You glance back at Chara. She seems pretty occupied. You take a few steps forward towards the fountain, glancing around behind it. Various potted plants are scattered around the room, and you’re reminded of Flowey. You frown, growing slightly worried. You hope he’s okay.

 _Don’t worry,_ you think, even though he obviously can’t hear you, _I’ll be back for you soon._

You turn around and walk back to Chara, who is just being handed your room key. She holds it up for you to see.

“407,” she says, pocketing the small card. You nod, following her to the elevator, still observing your surroundings. There’s an air of tranquility here that seems out of the place in such a busy city. You like it.

“You know,” you begin as the two of you get out on your floor, “I’ve never actually been to a hotel before.”

Chara looks at you in surprise. “Never?”

You shake your head. “No.” And then you laugh a little. “Is that weird?”

“Well, yes, sort of” Chara unlocks the door, holding it open for you. You thank her. “But it’s not bad or anything.”

As you walk in, the first thing you notice is that there’s only one bed. It’s big, bigger than the one you have at home, but…

_Doesn’t this mean you’re sharing a bed with Chara?_

She puts her stuff down on a desk chair, walking next to you and following your gaze. “Oh,” she says in a rather calm and casual tone, “I guess we’re sharing a bed.”

And then she goes back to her bag, unzipping it and going through her things. You’re not sure if you’re going to be able to survive tonight.

You’ll be sleeping. _With Chara_. You’re going to be in the same bed with her. For the whole time you’re here, you’re going to spend the each night sleeping by her side.

Your face feels like it’s on fire.

You set your stuff on a nearby chair by the bed, trying to distract yourself by beginning to unpack as well. But your whole body is shaking and your heart’s in your throat and you don’t think anything will be able to calm you down this whole trip.

After you’ve gotten everything out that you want to get out, you find yourself drawn to the window. It’s large, covering a large portion of the one of the walls, with a white transparent curtain covering it. You push it aside, curious of what you can see through it. You have about the same view as you did when you were outside, except from higher. From here, you can really see how lively it all is, with the streets and sidewalks still packed despite that it’s probably almost or past midnight. You’re so high up. It feels weird; you don’t think you’ve ever gotten the privilege of looking down upon a city from such a height. You didn’t know how much you were missing out on by not ever going to a hotel.

It’s not like you never wanted to go to one, though; you’ve never really thought about it until now, actually. You didn’t see family outside your parents, really, and they didn’t travel. At least, not with you. They didn’t have enough money to take anyone besides themselves places, and even then they probably couldn’t go far. If you did go, you suppose you’d just be a burden anyway and they’d probably hate you more than they already did, so maybe it’s better that you never went anywhere. Still, you can’t help but wonder how much you actually missed out on. You thought it wasn’t _that_ rare for kids to have never been to hotels, but from Chara’s reaction, it appears it is. Was your childhood actually a lot different than everyone else’s and you just never realized?

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” Chara appears at your side, standing and looking out of the window with you for a little while too. A question suddenly pops up in your mind.

“Do you think that the distance from here to the ground is about the distance we both took when we fell?” you ask, and then it occurs to you that that was a fairly morbid question.

Chara laughs a little. “Probably. I don’t actually know how big the fall was. It seemed maybe about this high, if not actually less.”

You nod, turning back to the window. You don’t know, either. It must’ve been big, because despite the golden flowers that mostly broke your fall, you still woke up with a dislocated shoulder. But that may have just been the way you fell.

Satisfied, you close the curtains, walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge of it. Chara begins turning off the lights, locking the door before getting into bed next to you and you feel your body go hot with embarrassment as you remember that you’re going to sleep with her tonight _and_ for the rest of the trip. You take a deep breath in another weak attempt to calm yourself before standing up and sliding underneath the covers, positioning yourself at the edge of the bed as to not invade Chara’s personal space.

After that, the room goes silent, and even though you’re tired, you don’t feel like sleeping. You don’t want to bother Chara though; she drove you all the way here, so she’s probably—understandably—really tired. Still, despite knowing this, you turn your head towards her, prepared to open your mouth and say something, but her back is turned to you and you’re suddenly discouraged. Extremely aware of your every movement and sound, you carefully turn onto your other side as quietly as possible, bringing your knees up to your stomach and holding them against your body. Thankfully, you’re tired enough for your mind to be mostly quiet and not extremely hyperactive like it is a lot of times, allowing you to lie in self conscious semi-peace. You could probably sleep if you really tried, but there’s a part of you that feels restless. You’ve never been to a big city like this, especially not with someone you really care about and long to spend time with. You don’t want to be here, lying in bed while the people around you are up and awake and having the time of their lives. It feels like a waste of time.

 _But I have all the time in the world,_ you remind yourself, vaguely remembering the fact that you have the ability to manipulate time. You still haven’t gotten over that, or gotten used to the idea of it. You really should probably try to understand it more, but that’s a whole pandora’s box of thoughts and concepts that you’re not prepared to deal with at this moment. Or for a while. You don’t want to ruin the progression of your relationships with everyone. Things are going quite well, and you would like to keep it that way. At least, for a while. And then, maybe you’ll have the strength to face everything head on.

Probably not, you really can’t face any issue head on, but you can hope.

It’s just hard to enjoy the present when you have the option of going back to that very moment and do everything over; the same way or differently. But you can’t RESET. You won’t. You told yourself as soon as you stepped foot back on the surface that you wouldn’t. Unless something very, _very_ bad happens that requires a RESET to save someone or something, you’ll never do it willingly. It’s not fair for everyone else. It’s not fair for Chara. It’s not fair for…

_It’s not fair for Sans._

You clutch the covers with your hands, quickly squeezing your eyes shut. Sans. When you’re not thinking about Chara, you’re thinking about him. But you can’t see him. Where is he? Is he safe? Why hasn’t he came to visit you? What if he’s hurt? _Why haven’t you asked about him?_

But you kind of already know the answer to that question.

You haven’t asked because you’re afraid of the answer.

There’s so many possible explanations; he could be hurt himself, stuck in a hospital just like you were somewhere far away from here. Maybe he was in the very same hospital you were in. You tell yourself you should’ve tried to explore more when you were there.

Or, he could be with other monsters, and he’s just been too busy to come here. That would be probably one of the best possibilities. But, it seems all too possible that it’s for a very different reason than those. What if he just doesn’t want to see you anymore? What if he’s found other people, other friends, someone else to fill his time with? What if he’s not even here anymore? What if he went back Underground? What if he’s _dead_?

You quickly shake those thoughts away, taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself. You think about why you haven’t seen him again yet far too often, but you don’t think you would be able to handle it if you asked and got one of those latter explanations or anything like them. You keep telling yourself you’ll ask, that tomorrow will be the day you finally gather up the courage to know—you haven’t even really thought about it if the people around you _don’t_ know why he hasn’t come to see you—but each day you reach that “tomorrow”, the next day becomes tomorrow, and it just goes on and on and on until you’ve realized that you’ll probably never actually ask. All you can do is desperately hope that one day he’ll show up and all of your questions will be answered. One day you’ll finally see him again. You just have to keep hoping…

You tell yourself that you won’t figure out any of these things tonight, and that it’s really just pointless to be torturing yourself like this, but it doesn’t really help. Letting yourself stay awake like this was a bad idea. You should’ve known your thoughts would devolve into this, like they do just about every night. If you can just fall asleep, you think, then your mind will shut up and you’ll be okay and hold together until the next night when you go back into your anxious questioning. But, now you’ve gotten yourself so _scared_ that you think it’s going to be even longer.

God, sometimes you really, truly hate yourself.

Pulling the covers over your shoulders, you close your eyes again. You have a feeling you’re not gonna fall asleep for a while, but you’re going to at least try. You can’t continue to think about these things. Instead, you focus on syncing your breathing with Chara’s, and you just hope you’re not keeping her up by staying awake. 

 

* * *

 

You can’t sleep.

After lying in bed for at least an hour, you decide that there’s something keeping you up. You’re tired, exhausted, and it _feels_ like you should be able to sleep, but it’s like your mind doesn’t _want_ to.

Irritated, you open your eyes that have already adjusted to the darkness, glaring at the ceiling. And then, you feel something beside you on the bed shift, and you suddenly think you know what’s keeping you up.

“Frisk,” you whisper, turning your head towards her. “Frisk…?”

She doesn’t reply, and you think that you were wrong in your assumption and feel a little guilt for possibly waking her up, but then she turns over onto her left so she’s facing you. Pushing her even messier than normal hair out of her face, she looks up at you with her eyes wide open and awake and you’re pretty sure that it _is_ her that’s keeping you awake. Figures.

You turn so you’re facing her completely too leaning forward a little in the process. She looks sort of nervous, bringing her hands to her chest and pressing them against her chest. You notice that they’re shaking slightly. You frown.

She blinks, seemingly noticing your displeasure, and then follows your gaze and looks down at her hands, quickly burying them under the covers once she sees them shaking.

“I’m okay,” she says (lies?) quickly. “I just can’t sleep.”

Well, obviously. But there has to be something keeping her up, doesn’t there?

“...I’m keeping you up, aren’t I?” she bites her lip, looking down guiltily, and you want to shake your head, but you know that would be a lie. But, you lie all the time. You’ve lied to Frisk before. What’s the problem with it now? It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything; just sort of a white lie. But something inside you just doesn’t want to lie to her anymore, and you think that spending so much time with her is starting to change you into a better person, and that mildly disgusts you.

Instead, you sigh, saying, “It’s fine,” because it is, and you don’t really care _that_ much. You have trouble getting to sleep a lot of times, yourself, so it would be hypocritical of you to get mad at her. It’s not Frisk’s fault that she can’t sleep. You get it.

But…

You still want to know what she’s so scared about.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, and you tell her again that it’s fine, but she doesn’t look convinced. Sometimes you really think she may be just as bad if not worse than you when it comes to self-loathing and self-blame. Which, is ridiculous considering that compared to you, she’s literally a saint and practically Jesus Christ himself. It makes you think that they’re behaviors she’s been taught, or, rather, developed as a result of other events or people. Which also disgusts you.

You look at her for a moment, wondering what—or, probably more likely, _who—_ would have caused her to become the way that she is; so apologetic, so quick to blame and berate herself, so anxious and careful around other people, so selfless… and, how, despite that, she’s still just so _good_?

After you continue to stay silent, she smiles. It doesn’t really look like a forced smile, but it’s definitely not the happiest you’ve seen on her, either. Slowly, she pulls one of her hands out from the covers putting it in front of her face and holding it up close to you. Confused, you do the same, watching as she places her hand against yours. You don’t get it. Does she want to hold your hand? Going along with this as it seems like the most plausible idea, you begin to thread your fingers through hers, but then she pulls her hand back and giggles softly.

You roll your eyes. What was the point of that? She lightly hits your hand with hers before pulling back and smiling at you. Well, you guess if this will relax her, then you’ll play this stupid game of hers.

You move to hit your hand against hers just as she did to you moments ago, and she does the same. But, this time, she _does_ hold your hand, easily slipping her fingers through yours and squeezing your hand. You slowly weave your fingers with hers as well, and you realize that you’re holding hands with Frisk for the second time in a day.

“Thank you,” she whispers suddenly. “Thank you for taking me here.”

You look away, lowering your eyes and fixating your stare on the floor behind you. “I-It’s nothing.”

“Don’t say that,” she moves a bit closer to you, causing you to direct your gaze back at her again. “I’m really happy that you’re here with me.”

She looks at you for a moment, and then rests the both of your hands against the bed and gives you another dumb smile. Stupid Frisk. But, you still hold her hand, and she seems satisfied, laughing quietly, and you lay there for a while just staring at her, letting yourself forget about other things like sleeping and instead admire Frisk’s laugh. It’s a quiet, small laugh, but it sounds so _genuine_ , and, for some reason, it makes you feel undeniably and revoltingly warm. It’s a foreign sort of feeling, something that you haven’t felt this prominently for a while. It’s almost like…

...Happiness.

...

You kind of hate it.

Eventually, Frisk pulls away, dropping her hand onto the bed. But, it’s not shaking anymore, and she doesn’t look scared anymore.

“Goodnight.” she says, and then closes her eyes, not bothering to turn back onto her other side. You look her for a moment, noting how peaceful she looks, but then quickly realize how creepy that is and turn back onto your other side so you’re not tempted to watch her sleep.

When you close your eyes this time, you feel a lot more at ease. Not like something is nagging you to stay awake. It seems that whatever Frisk was worried about has been resolved. Or, at least forgotten. You’re still curious about it, but if she can ignore it for now then you can to. And, now you finally feel like you can fall asleep.


	8. Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want to die,” she whimpers suddenly in such a desperate and scared voice and you feel your heart lurch. It can't be that bad, right...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay blood mention??? Sort of??? Idk, it's not extremely graphic or anything, but if you're iffy about that stuff just be careful. Other than that, enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in chart's pov.

You don’t wake Frisk up in the morning.

Honestly, you just didn’t think it was a good idea. You were both up fairly late last night, and you know she needed the extra sleep. You may have been better off sleeping in too, but you can get by with little sleep, and you were hungry. You don’t know if Frisk will be up in time to eat the food that’s being served at the hotel, but it’s fine if she doesn’t; you can just take her somewhere else. Since you don’t really have anything particular planned for today, you can really just do whatever is most convenient for the two of you.

Upon returning back to the hotel room, you notice that the bed is empty with no trace of Frisk. You almost get worried, but then you hear footsteps from the bathroom and realize she’s probably taking a shower. You inwardly sigh at yourself for your useless paranoia. You don’t think you’ll ever get rid of it.

You walk over to your suitcase, beginning to shuffle through your stuff, but you stop when you hear a small ‘ding’ from the table behind you. Stuffing some of your clothes back into your bag that you got out while you were going through it, you walk over and unplug your phone, bringing it up to your face to see that mom texted you.

 _Is everything okay?_ The message reads, and you smile, falling onto the bed behind you and quickly reply, _Yes, everything is fine. Still at the hotel; haven’t gone out yet._

It only takes a few seconds for her to text back, giving you a short but sweet okay and telling you she loves you both and to tell Frisk that. You tell her that you will and shut your phone off, throwing it onto the bed and just lying there for a moment. Only mere weeks ago you would have never imagined that you’d be here, with a corporeal form, staying in a hotel room with Frisk and having your mother be aware of your existence. Things are so good for you… it’s almost scary. You feel like with such good luck, something just as bad is bound to happen.

God, you really hope that that’s just your paranoia again.

Unfortunately, you must’ve somehow jinxed yourself by thinking that, because after a few moments of suspiciously blissful silence, you hear a scream.

And it came from behind the closed door of the bathroom.

###  _Chapter Eight: Waiting Game_

“Frisk?!” you knock on the door rapidly, already grasping the doorknob with your other hand. “Frisk, are you okay?”

She doesn’t answer.

 _What the hell?_  Swallowing hard, your hand on the door knob tightens. You feel your stomach sink down to your toes as you try to stop your mind from running through the possibilities of what may being going on that caused her to scream. You need to stay calm. “I… I’m going to come in.”

When you still get no response, you throw the door open, half expecting Frisk to be gone, and practically collapsing in relief when you see her sitting on the floor. But then you see the crimson painting the insides of her thighs and the knot in the pit of your stomach instantly returns.

You run over to her and drop onto your knees. All she wears is a towel, loosely tied around her chest and covering her torso and her hips. Her hair is wet, hanging in front of her face and casting a shadow over her eyes. It looks like she just got out of the shower.

“Hey,” you say as gently as possible, mentally urging yourself to continue to stay calm and not freak out, “what happened?”

Slowly, she lifts her head up, and she looks like she’s about to start crying. Her hands tremble, and she balls them into fists, holding them tightly to her stomach and shaking her head. “I don’t know, I just… started bleeding.

“I don’t want to die,” she whimpers suddenly in such a desperate and scared voice and you feel your heart lurch. It can't be that bad, right...?

You cautiously put your hand on her thigh, glancing up at her to make sure you’re not hurting her and giving her ample time to stop you. When she doesn’t, you slowly open her legs a bit further, leaning forward and trying to see where it’s all coming from, but there’s a lot of blood and it’s hard to pinpoint it’s exact source. It drips down both of her thighs, which makes you think that it can’t really be a wound that she just recently got or reopened, unless she has open cuts on both of legs, which seems unlikely. And that means that it must be from somewhere else, like in between her legs…

Oh.  

You think you know what’s going on here.

Pulling your hand away, you shift your legs so you’re sitting in a more comfortable position. “Frisk,” you say, waiting for her to meet your gaze, “It’s okay. It’s just your period.”

She blinks, not seeming to understand you, and you find yourself slightly confused as well. Frisk is somewhere around sixteen, meaning she should’ve gotten her period by now. Even if she didn’t know what it was, this shouldn’t be the first time she’s dealt with it, right?

“It’s normal,” you continue in an attempt to comfort her, not really knowing exactly what to say. “Everyone—well, everyone who’s female gets it. Have you really never had one before?”

“Once, a few years ago,” she replies, reaching up and pushing her hair out of her face. “But, I never had it again after that.”

You remember Frisk’s body when you accidentally saw her shirtless and how unhealthily thin she was, and recall reading somewhere about how starvation can sometimes cause women to stop having their periods in order to protect blood and protein reserves.

You feel a hot wave of anger course through your body. Who neglected her so much to the point that her body was possibly _forced_ to stop her menstrual cycles just so she could _survive_ ? Who refused to educate her, to not tell her _anything_ , so she would think that she was _dying_ when her body was doing something completely normal? Who could _do_ that to such a delicate, kind, and pure being such as Frisk?

If you ever find out, you don’t care if you have to search to the ends of the earth, you will hunt those _humans_ down and _make them suffer._

“Do you… think I’m disgusting?” she asks, making you think that she may have saw the repulsion in your expression. Taking a deep breath, you bury your anger for the time being, shaking your head and giving her a small smile.

“Of course not, Frisk,” you place your hand on her cheek, lightly caressing her velvety skin. “It’s completely normal.”

You stay like this for a moment, not being able to get yourself move. Frisk’s gaze flickers around your face before settling at your eyes, her own boring into yours. Gradually, her tense body relaxes, and a small smile spreads across her face as she leans against your hand. _How,_ you begin to ask yourself again, _how could anyone—how did_ I— _hurt_ this?

You ponder it for a moment, stroking your thumb around the curvature of her cheek. Even in the beginning, you remember having the slightest bit of trouble actually harming her. There was just something about her… She reeked of goodness, of purity, and hurting her got harder and harder each time when she repeatedly showed you mercy, time after time. RESET after RESET. After most people would’ve snapped, she still spared you. Why? You thought it was some sort of shtick, a facade, because no humans are good, right? But, no matter what, she stayed true to her morals and her promises, and, despite being attacked at every corner, despite being hurt, despite being _killed_ , she never once gained LV. She never once hurt anyone on purpose. Not even you.

After that, after you realized she couldn’t hurt anything or anyone, after she showed you nothing but endless kindness and patience despite your insults and abuse and emotional breakdowns, your motivation to hurt her slowly ran out. You just… _couldn’t_ do it anymore. You had no reason to. By the time the two of you encountered Asriel you were practically working together with Frisk. At that point, you were starting to develop a positive (healthy might’ve still been a stretch) relationship with her. One without inflicting any pain on her anymore.

And now, you don’t think you could hurt her at all. You have absolutely no desire to. You’ve opened up to her, and she promised to stay with you, and now you’ve begun trust her, because you know she’s true to her word. You care about her, as disgusting as that sounds. You really do. You won’t hurt her ever again. You can’t, and… you don’t want to.

Finally, you pull your hand away, getting to your feet and holding out your hand for her to grab. “Come on,” you say, easily pulling her up when she grasps your hand, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

 

 

 

You decide that to take Frisk shopping.

Of course, Frisk is sort of hesitant (“A-Again? Are you sure you I won’t just be a burden if I go with you?”) and honestly you don’t blame her, after all she did go shopping with _Mettaton,_ but you still something to wear for the party, and you need to buy her… well, supplies _._ For the time being, you just let her borrow some of yours, and briefly explained periods and how they work and why girls have them. It was sort of embarrassing, but you suppose if you’re going to accept the role of her protector, you’re going to have to get used to doing things like this.

You take Frisk to a local mall, planning to also buy her some clothes as you don’t think anyone has actually gotten her anything since you bought her those few things to get her through her hospital stay. You honestly wish you could’ve taken her earlier—you’ve seen her re-wear clothes sometimes three days in a row; she barely has anything—but you just haven’t had the time. And, now that you do, you’re going to try to get her all that she needs. After all, you _do_ have the whole day.

After wandering around for a little bit, Frisk pulls you into a store that has a few dresses on display. As you look around, you notice a small group of teenagers that look between you and Frisk’s age glancing over at the two of you and whispering. They probably recognize her. You mentally curse yourself for forgetting about Frisk’s fame, standing close to her and glaring at them, practically daring them to come over. You don’t care if they’re fans of her, or just want her autograph or some bullshit; you’re not taking the risk of them possibly wanting to start something with her.

You usher Frisk closer to the back of the store, leading her behind a few shelves where no one else is just in case anyone else happens to know who she is. She doesn’t question you, possibly being aware of the kids just as much as you were. You just hope no one will actually try and come up to her. Of course, you’ll get them to leave her alone, but you just don’t want anyone to bother her at all. She’s already been through quite a bit with that whole thing this morning, and she really just needs a break. Humans are honestly such a pain.

You notice that you’ve accidentally gotten into the undergarments section, but then suddenly realize that Frisk probably needs bras. Glancing back at her, you call her name, “Frisk?”

“Yes?” she walks up to you, folding her arms behind her back. You feel heat rise to your face, but you ignore it because this is fairly important and if you don’t mention it she may be too shy to ask or mention it and you don’t need your stupid emotions getting in the way of asking just a simple question and why can’t you _just open your mouth and say it already_ —

“What cup size are you?”

Her face goes red, and you’re pretty sure yours is too. She laughs nervously, rubbing the back of her neck—something she does when she’s embarrassed—and directs her gaze to the floor. “I-I’m not exactly sure. It’s been awhile since I’ve bought bras...”

You nod, turning back around and grabbing a few sizes. “It’s okay,” you say, managing to maintain a level tone, handing them to her and glancing around for the fitting rooms, “it’s easy to find out.”

She hums in response, glancing at you and flushing red again, “What cup size are _you_?” she asks in a rather calm tone, and then quickly says, “I-I mean! J-Just so I have an idea of where to start...”

You look at her for a moment and then laugh softly at her flusteredness, trying to get yourself to _calm down_ , rounding the corner into the changing rooms. Lucky for the both of you, one seems to be in any of them. “It’s fine,” you assure her before answering proudly, “I’m a double D.”

She stops, turning around to face you with a surprised expression. “Huh? Really?”

Suddenly, she grasps your chest. “They’re so big…” she murmurs, gently squeezing your breasts, “I’m jealous~”

Your face burns up again as you quickly push her away, instinctively covering your chest. “D-Don’t just suddenly touch those sorts of places like that!” you practically scream (despite how good it felt). Frisk blinks, all of her previous shyness seemingly gone.

“Sorry,” she apologizes in a sort of confused tone, but it’s genuine. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything…” And then, in a lower and quieter voice that you don’t think you’ve actually ever heard her talk in except once or twice, “It was just… hard to resist.”

Your eyes widen, and you feel your face grow hotter. Was that a _flirt_ ? “J-Just…! Go change!”

You push her into one of the changing rooms before sitting on a chair nearby, burying your face in your hands. Where the _hell_ did that sudden assertiveness come from?

“Ch-Chara…?” you hear Frisk call out about a minute or two later, and you stand up, taking a moment to briefly calm yourself before speaking.

“Yes?” you say, walking over to stand outside of the door and crossing your arms. “What is it?”

“Um… can you c-come in for a second?” You start to feel yourself getting hot again, but try to just ignore it, grabbing the doorknob and make an effort to mentally prepare yourself for what you might see.

Slowly, you open the door and step inside, not looking at Frisk until the door is closed. She stands in front of you in just a bra and leggings, a dark blush spread over her cheeks. The first thing you notice is how much better her body looks since the last time you saw it. She’s still covered in scars and bruises—some of them so _bad_ that you have to direct your gaze somewhere else—but she’s not nearly as skinny as she used to be. She still looks slightly unhealthy in that respect (you can still see the outline of her ribs) but it doesn’t look like she could starve to death at any given point in time. She’s not just skin and bones anymore. It almost makes you smile.

But then, your gaze drifts upwards, and you practically choke on your own spit. Despite being so skinny, her chest... is fairly large, especially in contrast to her small frame, but not to the point of looking unnatural. Rather, there’s something strangely prepossessing about it. She looks... so soft...

“S-Sorry,” she smiles sheepishly, and you quickly tear your gaze away from her upper body, mentally cursing your hormones, “Um, c-can you loosen the straps for me? I can’t get it…”

You nod, temporarily unable to speak, keeping your eyes glued to the floor until she turns around. Slowly, you walk towards her and reach out with shaky hands, taking a moment to steady them before touching her. With partial composure, you brush her hair out of the way, hooking your finger under one of the straps, and you notice how smooth her skin feels against the back of your finger. Grasping the small plastic piece, you fumble with it for a moment before actually getting it to move, effectively loosening it on one side.

“Is that okay?” you ask, and Frisk nods, refusing to look back at you. You smile slightly in amusement despite yourself, and then curiously skim your fingers across her skin, receiving a small shiver in return before going on to the other strap. You repeat the same process, except, this time, making sure to brush your fingernails over her skin a few times, finding enjoyment in her small gasps and shudders to just tiny touches such as those. That’s payback for earlier. And, how can you help it, when she’s so sensitive and interesting and  _cute_ to tease?

Stepping back, you ask, “Is that better?” and she nods, still not giving you a verbal answer. She shifts the bra around a bit before seeming satisfied with it.

“Hm...” she says to herself, tracing the underwire with her pointer finger, “I guess I’m a C-cup, then.”

 

* * *

 

You spend the rest of the day shopping with Chara, and you’re utterly exhausted when you return to the hotel at late evening with enough clothes to probably fill your whole closet from your old home and then some—along with an irritatingly prevalent sense of deja vu—but it was worth it; you got to spend a whole day just talking to and being with Chara. So, despite your tiredness, you don’t think you can really be much happier. You ended up just eating lunch there (you skipped breakfast and somehow managed to convince Chara that you’d be fine until afternoon on the condition that you’d never do it again) and then ate dinner at a rather fancy restaurant that you didn’t know you guys had the money for. Apparently Toriel has a _lot_ more money than you realized.

When nighttime comes, you find yourself strangely relaxed. Despite still having the urge to go out and do things, you realize that you do have _time_ and for now you need to be spending it resting, considering the party is tomorrow. You’re nervous (not as nervous as you’ll be tomorrow, though), but you just have a feeling that it’ll all end up okay. This will do good for everyone, and you’re sure it’ll be fun too. You have Chara; you’re safe. She’s safe, too; you sure as hell know that she can protect herself. Things are okay. Everything is good.

Everything…

_Everything except him._

You suddenly sit up, not feeling comfortable lying down anymore. Your chest tightens and so does your throat, and you think you might cry and you just feel so _hopeless_ and just oh my _god how much longer do you have to do this?_

Chara seems asleep, or, at least, tired enough that she won’t be bothered by you getting up, so you get out of bed and walk to the window, stepping through the curtains and looking over the city before yourself.

“Sans…” you try to whisper but it comes out more like a choked sob and you drop to your knees, leaning against the cold glass and pressing your hand against it. For some reason, things don’t seem nearly as lively as they were yesterday. “ _Where are you_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for such short and fairly uneventful chapters?? I just wanted to get as much fluffy stuff as possible in before things all spiraled out of control and got really. Angsty. (And such.) The next chapter shouldn't be that long of a wait, since I know pretty much exactly where I'm going with the plot now, and, once again, I'm out of school, which means I have sooooo much more time. I appreciate any constructive criticism and kudos and all that! Thank you to everyone who's reading! I hope to see you all soon.


	9. Burn for Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today’s the day; the whole reason you and Chara came here.  
> Today’s the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I forgot to say this in the last chapter but?? Happy Pride Month, everyone! I hope everyone's having a good summer.  
> So, I promised myself I'd get this out before I went on vacation. I'm pretty satisfied with it. At least, as satisfied as I think I'll ever be.  
> Enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in chara's pov.

There’s a strange tightness in your chest.

You tell yourself that it isn’t sympathy. Empathy. It’s just because your connection with Frisk, and you’re just picking up on how she feels.

But, you even for you, someone who’s used to lying to theirself, that’s hard to believe.

And that’s when you know you really _have_ started to change because of her.

Frisk doesn’t know, but you were wide awake last night when she thought she was alone with her thoughts.

You couldn’t hear her very well, she was so _quiet_ like she always is, but from her shaking form (especially her shoulders that heaved with each breath she took) it looked like she was crying.

You’re not completely sure though. This whole time you’ve known her, you don’t think you’ve actually seen Frisk full-on _cry_. You’ve seen tears in her eyes, maybe seen one or two rolling down her cheeks during a rather painful death, but that doesn’t really count as crying, in your opinion. She’s always so together. Even in the Underground, when you were really inside her head, her inner self was composed as well.

But, then again, you had set a sort-of barrier in between the both of you, a wall so there would be some sort of privacy that allowed you two to have individual thoughts, so who knows what she was really thinking. You don’t know for certain. And it makes you feel as though Frisk only _seems_ like she’s collected all the time. Like it’s a front that she puts on, keeping all of her problems and worries to herself and then breaking down when she’s alone.

Because, after all, isn’t that exactly what she did last night?

She _thought_ you were asleep. She thought she was, basically, alone. And that’s when she let her guard down.

And suddenly, you think Frisk isn’t nearly as untroubled as you thought.

You feel regret washing over you, and you don’t try to deny it this time. You just lied there, while Frisk was over in the corner—the reason she probably got up in the first place was to make sure she didn’t disturb you, the _pushover_ —possibly _crying_ , and wallowing in her unspoken anxieties all _alone._ You never even made it known that you were awake. You didn’t make any attempt at trying to console her at all. At the very least, you could’ve grasped her hand or something when she finally came back to bed, something that could be assumed you did in your sleep to spare you from embarrassment, just anything to let her know that you were there for her. That she _wasn’t_ —and, most definitely, _isn’t_ —alone.

But, you did nothing.

You just wish you were better at comforting people.

 _That’s still no excuse,_ something says to you, and it’s true. Even despite your inexperience with consolation, you could’ve at least _tried_.

A part of you says that you shouldn’t care, that you hate humans, what does it matter? But Frisk is (has?) slowly becoming an exception, and, at this point, you’re not sure you can do anything to change that (do you even _want_ to?).

You have to do better in the future.

“You know what,” you say to Frisk after she gets out of the shower, standing up and walking over to her. “I’m taking you out for breakfast today.”

She looks a bit confused by your sudden decision and rather buoyant manner, but goes along with it, smiling and nodding in agreement. “Okay!” she says, turning around to slip on her shoes. “Do you have anything in mind?”

You shrug, grabbing your phone and the room key, opening the door and leaning against it. “Not particularly. Just somewhere nice.”

Closing the door behind you both, you start down the hallway. “I just think that since today’s the party, we should go all out, yes?”

She crosses her arms, laughing a little. “I mean, yeah, sure. Why not.”

You nod, pressing the button for an elevator. Even if you didn’t comfort Frisk yesterday, you’ll make sure she has a good time today. Whatever was bothering her, you’ll distract her from it.

“Don’t worry,” you say, stepping into the elevator after Frisk. “I’ll find a good place. After all, we have Yelp to help us out.”

She scoffs at that, grasping onto the rails behind her and leaning against them. “I can’t believe I know what that is. I can’t believe _you_ know what that is. How long have you even had a phone?”

“Since I came up to the Surface and reunited with mom,” you shrug, not remembering the exact period of time. The doors open. “She’s got connections.”

Frisk doesn’t say anything for a moment, walking out and staring at the floor. “...Probably Mettaton.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “that would actually make a lot of sense.”

When you get outside, you take out your phone, absentmindedly reaching out and grabbing Frisk’s hand.

You feel her gaze on you, and you look up, suddenly realizing what you did. But, when you try to hurriedly pull away, she holds onto you.

“It’s okay,” she says, “we don’t want to get separated, right?”

You realize she’s basically repeating what you said the first time you held her hand the first night here, and you roll your eyes, feeling like pulling your hand away anyway because _physical contact_ but you notice the smile on her face and you can’t bring yourself to do it.

“W-Whatever,” you mumble as an alternative, burying your face in your phone, “not like I’d care that much, anyway.”

She laughs, not calling you out on your obvious lie, and you sneak a glance at her while she’s looking away. She just looks so _elated_ , tightening her grip on your hand, and you sigh, letting your tense arm relax and tighten your grip back and biting your cheeks to prevent yourself from smiling.

Even if you have trouble comforting her…

You can at least make her happy.

###  _Chapter Nine: Burn for Burn_

Today’s the day; the whole reason you and Chara came here.

Today’s the party.

You’re not sure what to expect. You’re not sure how to feel. You think you should be nervous—well, you are, when are you _not_ —but for some reason… it’s not crippling like it probably should be. Of course, you don’t want to jinx yourself, you’re sure you _will_ be an absolute nervous wreck closer to giving your speech and probably during, but right now… you’re oddly indifferent.

Sitting across from Chara, absentmindedly stirring your drink, you actually find yourself sort of at peace.

Although, you may just be mistaking it for numbness, but you’ll just pretend for now.

For some reason, she’s uncharacteristically happy today. Or, it at least seems like happiness. Not that that’s a bad thing or anything, just… unexpected. She doesn’t seem to be forcing it, either, so maybe something happened to put her in such a good mood?

You must’ve been staring off into space or something, because Chara asks, “are you alright?”

You jerk your gaze back up to her, quickly straightening up. “H-Huh? Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about… things...”

She sits back, shifting a bit in her seat. “Are you nervous?”

Sometimes you really wish you were as good at reading people as Chara is.

Drawing circles on the wood of the table, you take a moment to think about it. Yes, you’re nervous. Obviously you are. But, like you were just thinking about, you’re not as nervous as you think you should be. At least, about the party. You’re more worried about…

You’re more worried about Sans.

But you don’t know if you should tell Chara that.

First of all, she’s never liked him. She may hate him, actually. Which isn’t really a problem for you, you can’t control who she likes and dislikes, you don’t want to, you just don’t want her to hurt him. Of course, just because she doesn’t like him doesn’t mean she’ll hurt him or anything, you trust Chara and you know that she tries her best and is trying to change, but… you don’t know. You don’t want to provoke or anger her. That’s it. You don’t want to ruin your relationship and you don’t want to ruin how good it’s been going for the two of you.

Second of all, she may know something. You’ve already gone over this time and time before in your head. If she knows something, it could be good, but if what she knows is bad, like Sans chose to never see you again, you won’t be able to handle it.

So, maybe it’s best if you just don’t say anything.

“Yeah,” you answer, which isn’t a lie. “I am.”

She doesn’t speak, maybe expecting you to elaborate. You have to stop to think again to put it all into words. What exactly scares you about the party?

“Well,” you begin, speaking slowly so you have time to think, “I want to do well. I _need_ to do well. With how much news coverage that all of this is getting, there probably will be a ton of people there. Not only that, but it’s going to be on live television. There’s going to be a _lot_ of people watching.” You shift uncomfortably, suddenly feeling the nervousness you previously thought you had avoided start to build up in your stomach. “If I don’t do good… if I don’t convince people, then… there’ll be consequences. Major consequences. Consequences that… hurt people. But… I don’t know if I can meet everyone’s expectations. I don’t know if I can be the Ambassador everyone needs me to be. I-I just—”

“Frisk,” Chara stops you from going any further, leaning forward so your faces are inches apart, “you’re going to do fine _._ I’m not going to tell you to not worry, because I know that isn’t realistic. Besides, it’s normal to be scared for things like this. You have every reason to be scared.” She pauses too, seeming to be searching for the right words, and you manage to find a bit of comfort in the fact that even she has to stop and think of how to word something. “But, I know you can do it. Do you know how many times you have managed to beat all odds and obtain your end goal? You went through the whole Underground, died hell knows how many times, RESET just as many, dealt with someone else’s thoughts in your head the entire time, probably broke every bone in your body at some point, got attacked and killed by just about everyone, and still managed to save all the people that you could without hurting anyone. You _shouldn’t_ have been able to do it. But you did. Even if everyone’s against you, I know that you can still persevere. You’ve gone through way worse than this before.” Slowly, she takes your hands into her own. “You’re DETERMINED. You can do anything that you set your mind to.” She smiles a little, steadily maintaining eye contact with you, and you feel your anxiety slipping away. “And, I believe in you. You’re going to do _fine._ I know you will. Okay?”

Her eyes are so soft and her smile feels so real and meaningful and you find yourself staring at her with your breath caught in your throat because you’ve never seen her look at you like this and oh my _god_ she’s just so _beautiful—_

Mentally slapping yourself, you blink rapidly, trying to get ahold of yourself. You’re still processing her words. How do you reply? What do you say?

She…

_Believes in you…_

“I-I…” you try to continue to look her in the eye, but you feel like your body is going to overheat and die so you focus on the window behind her, searching your mind for something to say, “I’m so lucky to have you…”

You didn’t mean to tell her that, but it was the first thing that came to mind. You don’t really regret it, either, because it’s completely true. You bring your eyes back to hers again, and then, with newfound courage, you say, “I won’t disappoint you.”

She looks a bit surprised with your response, but the unusual warmth in her gaze is still there. “I know you won’t,” she murmurs, taking one of her hands away from yours to run it along your hair, “You’ll do great.”

Savoring the physical contact and looking into her eyes, you suddenly feel guilty. She… she really cares about you, doesn’t she?

No one’s ever been this nice to you before.

No one’s ever told you they believe in you.

You sigh. She deserves to know the truth.

“There’s something else, too,” you mutter, glaring at the table. You almost feel as though you lied to her.

She’s quiet, but you can feel concern in her stare.

“I…” you begin, trying to think of a way to tell her the truth without mentioning Sans’s name, “I’m worried. A-About someone.”

“Someone?” she repeats, and you realize that this could be it. You could say that it’s Sans, maybe even ask where he is, and she could know. At least, you’d know what Chara knows and know to move on to ask someone else. Despite her stance on him, you could just _say_ it and see what she knows. It’s only a word. Only a name. You want to know. You need to. It’s going to kill you. You can do it.

You can.

“S…”

You _can’t._

“Yes,” is your response instead and you hate yourself for it, “someone.”

But, there’s not much she could respond to you with that little of information.

“Someone,” you say again, “someone I really care about. But, I don’t know where h—they are. I have no idea. I… I really miss them.

“B-But!” you add, hoping you’re not bothering her by going on about yourself like this, “It’s… it’s okay.”

It’s not.

But you’re not gonna tell Chara that.

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then she grasps your chin with the hand she had on your hair, forcing you to look at her. She looks worried, _concerned_ for you, almost sympathetic and you hate yourself even more for burdening her.

“Whoever it is,” she says, moving her thumb along your skin, “if you really care about them, then… we’ll look for them. Okay? Even if it takes forever, we’ll find them, Frisk.”

You can’t speak. You’re too stunned.

You just can’t believe that you have someone like Chara in your life; she’s willing literally search for another another person for you, not even knowing who they are or how long it’ll take or how dangerous it is. She’s willing to do it even though there’s nothing in it for her. Just so you’re happy. Just so you’re okay.

God, you really are so lucky.

You suddenly stand up, leaning across the table and throwing your arms around her neck, hugging her tightly.

She feels tensed, but then she relaxes, gradually putting her hands on your back.

“Gosh, Frisk,” she says, rubbing you gently, “you really like hugs, don’t you?”

You smile, nodding even though she can’t see it. “Well, duh.”

You lie your head on her shoulder, closing your eyes and just enjoying the embrace. You don’t deserve Chara.

Guilt begins to bubble up again, and you think maybe, maybe you should just tell her…

“For the record, though,” she says, and suddenly it’s too late and the subject is already changed, “I wouldn’t be disappointed in you even if the party didn’t go well.”

That just makes you hug her tighter.

Eventually, the two of you pull apart, and it’s only a few minutes before you leave. And, walking out of the restaurant, a lot of your previous nervousness and fear is gone. Chara said she would help you find Sans, even though she didn’t know who you were talking about. And even if you don’t know if she actually would upon finding out who he is, it still makes you feel good that she would even suggest that. And, her words about the party comfort you, too. As long as she believes in you, then you can do anything. You can do your speech, and you can find Sans. You will.

You definitely won’t let her down.

 

 

 

 

“So, that’s it? That’s all you want me to talk about?” you look up at the woman standing in front of you, resting your head on your hands. “That’s, um, sort of vague….”

The organization member sits back, seeming to ponder your statement for a moment. “Well, Miss Frisk, you see, we would like the speech to be rather raw. We don’t want to confine you to talking about certain things. If you act more like yourself rather than reciting an obviously scripted paper written by someone else, your speech will be a lot more effective, not to mention people will trust you more, therefore solidifying the point you’re trying to make.”

You hum, nodding a little bit. That makes sense. But just…

What exactly are you going to say?

You’re definitely going to have to prepare your speech before you give it.

Meanwhile, in the corner of the room, Chara talks with another organization member. You glance back to the woman in front of you before looking back to them, not really listening to what she’s saying anymore, invested in trying to hear what Chara and this other person are talking about. The guy looks only maybe a few years older than her, smiling and laughing, gesturing enthusiastically. He seems to be… _enjoying_ himself.

Maybe a _bit_ too much.

His gaze momentarily travel down to her chest before looking back up to her, his cheeks a bit pinker, and you narrow your eyes. Thankfully, though, Chara doesn’t seem as nearly as interested as he is, simply standing back with a carefully restrained smile that you recognize as not an actual smile. Rather, to you, it looks a lot more like a knowing smirk.

“...Miss? Are you okay?”

You almost jump, directing your gaze back across from the table. “Yes,” you say quickly, opening your mouth to say something else, but you hear a feminine laugh from behind you and instantly turn back around, forgetting whatever it was.

Chara’s _laughing_ , reaching up and briefly touching the guy on the shoulder, and you have to keep yourself from getting up and going over there. You thought Chara didn’t like humans. How is she warming up to him so quickly?

You instantly mentally scold yourself, sighing and turning back around. That’s so _selfish_ of you to think. How could you be like that? You should be happy that she’s making other friends, especially with humans.

Although…

That laugh didn’t sound genuine in the slightest.

You’ve rarely ever heard Chara _actually_ laugh, but from the few times you have _—_ once or twice, maybe? You should really try to make her laugh more _—_ but from those times and just now, they don’t sound similar at all.

But, that could be just your slight (maybe more than just _slight_ _)_  jealousy talking.

“Actually,” you hear Chara say, and your interest is piqued once again, “do you have a list of people attending the party? If so, may I see it?”

Easily, the guy instantly responds, “oh, yes, yes, of course!” and, glancing back once again, you catch a glimpse of Chara’s face. She’s still smiling, but this time, it’s actually a smile. Although, rather than looking like one of happiness, it looks a lot more like one of… victory?

Blinking, you watch them walk out of sight before sort of tuning into what the woman is talking about, seemingly not noticing your distraction. That was… strange. You get why she would want to see who was coming, especially with her assuming the position of protecting you and all, but…

You think you might be overthinking things again.

You try to direct your full attention on the lecture being given to you, hoping you’ll be able to piece together the jist of what she said while you were distracted, but only manage to catch a fragment of sentence,

“...be escorted to the party.”

Wait, what?

“U-Um, sorry, but,” you feel rude and slightly embarrassed for not listening, “could you repeat that?”

Gladly, though, she doesn’t seem angered or suspicious. “Oh, I said that you will to be escorted to the party.”

You feel a bit uneasy. “...By who?” Will Chara come with you? Oh God, you hope you’re not _alone—_

“Certainly not by one of your staff.”

Chara’s suddenly appears at the table, standing in front of the employee, crossing her arms and glaring her down. You almost sigh in relief.

“B-But, Miss Chara, this is already something that we have _—_ ”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time,” she leans down slightly so she’s almost eye level with the woman, but still a bit taller. “ _Not_ by one of your staff.”  
You briefly wonder where her “happy” mood went to.

You glance up and see the guy she was just with come slowly walking out from behind a bookshelf where the two of them disappeared, holding a binder that is stuffed with papers. He actually looks sort of scared.

You have to stifle a laugh.

“Rather,” Chara says, bringing your attention back to her as she straightens back up, “it will be someone I know is safe. Fortunately for you, I now know who will be coming, so that should not be an issue.”

“B-But _—_ ”

“This is _not_ up for debate,” she hisses, getting back in her face, and you’re tempted to reach out to her to try to calm her down, “you are lucky that she could even come down here. Unless you want me to leave with Frisk _right this moment_ I would _suggest_ that you cooperate with me. I am not simply giving you suggestions, _Miss._ ”

Chara is definitely terrifying when she wants to be.

The woman quickly nods, standing up and taking a few steps away from Chara as if getting a safe distance away from her. “We-We will see what we can do, Miss.”

Chara uncrosses her arms and almost smiles. “Good.”

The worker runs out momentarily, telling Chara she’ll be right back, and Chara seems semi-pleased and turns to you, taking her seat.

“...Are…you not coming?” you ask, sort of confused, but also scared for her answer.

“Of course I am,” she replies, and you flood with relief, “I am just not riding with you.”

Oh no.

“Don’t worry, though,” she assures you, “It will be someone you’re comfortable with. I would go, I just… have some business I need to attend to.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to pry but your curiosity gets the better of you. “...Business?”

“Yes,” she confirms, looking to the right, “I am going to meet up with… an old _friend_.”

The way she says “friend” almost sounds mocking, and you swear you see a flash of anger in her eyes, but as soon you notice it it’s gone. “It’ll be brief, though. I’ll be there before you start your speech.”

You nod, satisfied with her answer. It’s okay with you; she needs to do something, and she’ll be there when it matters. Honestly, even if she couldn’t come at all would be okay with you. You’d admittedly be disappointed, but who _would_ want to come see you speak? It’s her choice. You’d get it. You’d understand.

She studies you for a second before standing up and lightly brushing up against your shoulder. You think it was an accident, but she doesn’t move, just ever so slightly touching you, and then she says in a quiet voice, “don’t forget what I told you at breakfast, alright?”

Then, she walks away, and you don’t look to see if she left the room. You don’t think so. It doesn’t sound like it.

You smile to yourself.

How _could_ you forget what she said, anyway? You don’t think you’ll ever forget it.

You get up, tired of sitting down anymore. Curiously, you walk to the bookshelves Chara and the other guy went around, stopping when you see the binder lying on a table that he had earlier. Glancing through the bookshelves, you don’t see him anywhere in the room, and Chara is occupied at the doorway with the female worker, so you steadily walk towards it.

Briefly flipping through its contents, you don’t see anything out of the ordinary; forms, spreadsheets (some of which have writing on them, but not anything interesting), identification papers of people who look to be employees, instructions. Things that you’d assume would be in a workplace binder.

You’re about to close it and walk away, but then, on the last few pages, you find one that isn’t attached.

It’s a list.

 _Bingo_.

Letting the rest of the papers go, you pick up the sheet, noting that it’s handwritten. It occurs to you that this is extremely rude and nosey; you shouldn’t be going through other people’s stuff like this. But, you don’t really care. Do you not have the right to be nosey when it comes to your own organization?

Well, probably not, but you want to know who’s on this list. You’d like to at least have an idea of who may be driving you.

Looking over it, the first thing you notice is how many names there are.

They fill up the whole page, and, when you turn it over, the back page is filled up completely too. This may not even be everyone going; what if there’s another list?

You don’t have time to look, though, because as you’re trying to find people you recognize on it, you hear your name being called.

Hurriedly, you stuff the paper back into the binder, grasping the cover and closing it softly. You walk back into view of the door. “Yes?”

Chara signals you to follow as she walks out of the room, and you nod, but linger for a moment once you’re alone, looking back to the bookshelf.

Who else could be on that list? Who else may you see?

But, as you force yourself out of the room before you can go back and look, you think that maybe, it will be better to just find out when the party starts, and, for now, maybe it’s better for you not to know.

 

 

 

 

Eventually, things are somewhat sorted out (you think) and Chara leaves, making sure to stay with you until your ride arrives. You debate trying to get a hug out of her, since you’re not really sure how long it’ll be until you see her again, but end up deciding against it. Oh well. You’ll get to be close to her again soon.

So, you step out of the building with more organization members, waving them goodbye and slowly walking towards the limousine. You guess you’ll have to get used to riding in these. Which, may not be that bad, though. It’s just a whole new thing.

You’re nervous apprehensive. Whether it’s because you’re going to the party and you’re going to have to speak soon or if it’s because you have no clue who is driving you, you don’t really know; probably a mix of both.

You try to see who it is, but the tinted windows prevent you from doing so. You guess you’ll just have to take the plunge, then.

The door is unlocked and opens on your first try. Getting in and shutting the door, you make yourself comfortable before taking a deep breath and slowly looking up to the driver’s seat.

And who you see is definitely a surprise.

 

* * *

 

You almost feel sort of bad for leaving Frisk alone. You know she’s in good hands, though.

Besides, this is something you most definitely have to do.

You make sure Frisk has an extra hotel key and watch the limousine pull up for her before leaving.

“Let’s see…” you murmur to yourself, glancing at the directions on your phone that you obtained from the guy earlier. It was quite easy to get out of him; it was obvious he was flirting with you, so you made it seem like you were interested in him, too. It was honestly disgusting, being so close to him like that, but you wanted this information bad. Although, you do have to admit that you did enjoy yourself a bit. You forgot how fun it was to manipulate humans.

Reaching a tall building that looks a lot like the apartment that guy described, you look at your notes on your phone to check. Yes, this is it.

Walking up the stairs, you reach the door, knocking and listening for a response. You wait for at least ten seconds. There is none.

You knock once more, a bit more forcefully, and then wait for fifteen seconds this time. Once again, no response.

But, you know someone is here.

You almost begin calling out, but then turn your attention to the doorknob. Curiously, you turn it gently, and realize it’s not locked.

Smirking, you glance around to see if anyone is around, which, is unlikely, since there wasn’t anyone here in the first place, but you want to make sure. When you see no one, you slowly open the door, prepared for someone to jump out at you.

Instead, you’re met with darkness. Pitch black. Suspicious; it seems you were expected.

Carefully, you step in, quietly closing the door behind you, and flattening yourself against it so no one can come up behind you. Blinking, you scan your eyes over the room, observing your surroundings as best you can in this light.

“You know,” you say in your best imitation of mom when she scolds you, slowly reaching for your knife, “it’s quite careless to leave your door unlocked like that.”

No one replies. Rather, it’s dead silent.

That is, until something is thrown at your head, only missing by a hair, and smacks against the wall.

Slowly, you turn your head to the left towards the source, only barely being able to make out the shadowy figure by the dim blue light bathing the room.

“Well,” you say, smirking at the glare you’re given, grasping the handle of the knife firmly in your hands, “It’s been _such_ a long time, hasn’t it? It’s nice to finally meet you in person…”

You whip out the knife, twirling it in your fingers before gripping it tightly in your hand.

“... _Comedian_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I planned to have two chapters out since I'm going away for so long which will inevitably delay the next chapter even more than regular because I'll probably need to recover from this trip (it's like a six hour time difference end me) but. I just couldn't do it. Sorry everyone! I feel so bad leaving on such a cliffhanger, too, lol. Please forgive me.  
> I'll try to get the next chapter out as soon possible. I already have some of it written out, so it shouldn't be that long. Before I go, though, I would just like to thank everyone for the support. The comments you guys leave me make smile and brighten my day and just make me so happy omg. I love you all. Hopefully, it won't be that long until I'm back.


	10. Caught Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re scared.  
> No, scared is an understatement.  
> You’re absolutely terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay wOW I didn't know it was going to be this long. Apparently jet lag lasts longer than I thought it does and when I got back I hadn't written in two weeks so it took a little while to get back into the flow of things and?? Idk honestly life is annoying and I just so happened to reconnect with a previously ex-friend a few weeks ago right when I was trying to finish this chapter. Basically, in conclusion; never fly KLM (they will run over your luggage, lose it, and then never give you money for it!!!!) or go to South Africa when you live in America if you want to work on a project when you get back. But, I'm back now!!! And, here's 7K words to make up for how long I was gone.  
> Some things I've changed:  
> -A few of the chapter names  
> -Edited a few chapters  
> -The summary  
> Enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in frisk's pov.

“... _U-Undyne?!_ ”

She simply smiles, glancing at you through the rearview mirror as she starts the car. “Hey, punk.”

...You’re not sure who you expected.

“Since… since when did you learn how to drive?” you ask, feeling excitement grow in your stomach. You’re happy to see her again.

“Since I got a driver’s a license,” she replies plainly, as if the answer was completely obvious. Which, you suppose it was, of course she can’t drive without a driver’s license, but… that wasn’t really what you meant.

Has it…

Really been that long?

“I missed you,” you say quietly, and then add in a louder voice, “is Alphys not with you?”

She sighs. “No. She couldn’t come. I know that she wanted to, but you know she doesn’t do well in crowds. And… she’s working on something important right now.”

“Oh…”

That makes sense. You find yourself sort of jealous of her, though; a part of you would prefer also to be at home “working on something important” and or just spending time with your family instead of on your way to make a big consequential speech that could quite possibly affect the fate of a whole entire race _and_ that will be broadcasted over national TV…

Yeah. You think you’d _much_ rather be doing something else right now.

Although, what could this “something important” be?

You would think that just because she moved to the Surface wouldn’t change the fact that she’s a scientist. Well, you’re really sure of it. It’s probably something related to that.

Although, if Undyne is able to come, does that mean some of your other friends will be there, too?

The thought makes you smile, and it takes you a moment to realize that she’s parked.

Blinking, you look up to the window, recognizing the building you’re in front of as the hotel. Finding the roomkey, you open the door, waving slightly and telling her, “I’ll be right back.”

As you walk into the hotel and enter the elevator, you realize that Undyne could’ve just taken you to New York in the first place and saved you and Toriel from the whole “who’s going to take you” thing. Though, now that you think about it, you’re not sure that would’ve been the best idea...

It worked out in the end, though. So it doesn’t matter.

Leaning against the wall, you wait in complete silence. It’s strange. You’re not used to it, or being by yourself like this. Without…

Chara…

And here you are, thinking about her once again, wondering what she’s doing right now. God, do you really miss her already?

The doors open, and you speed-walk out, having to remind yourself that you’re not in a hurry. You have time. You’re not late. You’re actually going to arrive early at this rate, so you have time to prepare. And you have more than enough.

Well, you think. Unless it’s been a lot longer than you think since you last checked the time.

You manage to find a balanced pace that’s not so fast that you’re tripping over your own feet—you do that enough when you’re walking normally—and reach your room, messing with the door key a few times before actually swiping the card right and opening the door.

Upon entering the room, you easily find your dress where you laid it yesterday night. Not bothering to go into the bathroom as you’re the only one here, you pull off your clothes, stepping into the dress and fumbling with the zipper for a few seconds before getting it all the way up.

You take a moment to look at yourself, pointedly doing it quickly since you know the longer you look the more you’re going to hate yourself (or, moreover, your appearance) more than you already do, and you don’t have time for that right now. You grab a comb out of your bag and brush through your hair, knowing it’s probably mostly useless, since your hair is always sort of messy—that’s just how it sits—but you try. Then, you adjust the dress a bit, smoothing down the fabric. Finally, you glance over yourself one last time, deciding that’s about as good as you’re going to get, and head back to your bag to get your shoes.

Of course, Mettaton just _had_ to get you heels. You practiced walking in them briefly, but with how clumsy you are, you’re probably going to end up with a sprained ankle anyway. Pulling up the excess fabric of your dress, you kick your other shoes off and step into the heels, leaning against the wall for support and only step away when you know you’re steady. It briefly reminds you of being in the hospital and you cringe, burying them as far down with your brain as you can. You hope you’ll never have to be in that kind of situation again.

Before walking out, though, you notice Chara’s dress is still in her partially opened suitcase, meaning she hasn’t been here yet. You guess she forgot to put it under the bed this time. She normally does, probably worried that room service may take something, which is sorta paranoid of her, but you find it sort of cute. Walking over as steadily as you can, you bend forward, gently taking it out and lying it on the bed. It’s still in plastic covering, so you can’t see it, and you find yourself sort of curious to see what it looks like. But, then you think you’d rather just see it on her in person, so you just leave it there in hopes of making it easier for her, making sure to shut her suitcase and shove it back under the bed before heading out again.

By some miracle, you manage to get into the vehicle without falling, and mentally congratulate yourself. Now, hopefully you can keep it up for the rest of the night.

As Undyne pulls out and begins driving to your destination, a thought suddenly occurs to you.

Undyne could know where Sans is.

It’s a lot more likely that she would know compared to Chara, at the very least. Out of all the people you have contact with right now who know Sans, she would probably be the best person to ask. And, if you’re going to ask, you should ask her.

“U-Undyne…”

She glances at you, and you take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for what you may hear. This has gone on for far too long. You’re gravely afraid of what the answer may be, but you need to know. You have to know. Whatever is the truth, you’ll have to deal with it. Even if you break down, even if you can’t handle it… you’ll just have to cope. At least, then, you’ll finally know.

You need to know.

“Do you happen to know w—”

You stop suddenly, cut off by your own breath hitching against your will when a jarring pain pulses in your shoulder, feeling as though something had hit you. _Hard._

“You okay back there?” She asks in alarm, glancing back at you, to which you quickly nod at.

“Y-Yes,” you force out through gritted teeth, grasping your shoulder. “S—... Sorry.”

She doesn’t seem convinced, but you can’t really bring yourself to care at the moment, more occupied with the pain in your arm. Shakily, you lift your hand up a bit, still holding onto the skin around the area, trying to see what the matter is. But, your shoulder looks completely normal; your skin is still as pale as ever, no traces of redness of cuts or bruises. Nothing.

And then, it slowly ebbs away, decreasing to a dull ache. Baffled, you take your hand off of it, poking your skin a bit, but it feels like it would usually. You try rolling it around, reaching forward and stretching it, but even then it’s just… _normal._

You wait a few minutes, wondering if it’ll come back, but it never does.

_What was that?_

Your right shoulder is a place that you remember didn’t have any bruises or cuts on it, so that couldn’t be it. You haven’t hit it or anything recently, either. And if it was an ache from sleeping weirdly you’re sure it would’ve felt like that all day. Besides, even if it did happen to be that, you don’t think it would be that extreme.

That must mean…

_Did you somehow feel that through your connection with Chara?_

You feel yourself begin to panic—she’s okay, isn’t she? She _has_ to be okay—and get the urge to just jump out of the car and go find her despite that not being rational in the slightest. You reach for the door with one hand, the other going for the lock, prying it open—

_Relax. Everything’s okay._

You instantly stop, dropping both of your hand in your lap, sitting back in your seat and staring at the floor in shock. That was just your thoughts, was it not? How did that work? Why did that make you so…

You ponder it for a moment, thinking you may have finally started going crazy, but then recall how you and Chara used to only communicate through thoughts, since that was, really, your only option. And, maybe, it was so effective because of how similar it sounded and felt to Chara mentally speaking to you.

###  _Chapter Ten: Caught Fire_

It was actually quite easy to figure out that this the “someone” Frisk was talking about is Sans.

You had almost forgotten about the useless sack of bones, assuming that he was gone for at least a good while along with a lot of the others Frisk met in the Underground. But of course, that was too good to be true. As soon as you saw his name on the list, you made the connection. Frisk had started saying something—a name—when you were talking earlier, which you now know was “Sans”. It all made sense. You felt sort of slow for not figuring it out sooner, but, it’s fine, because you’re making up for it now.

“Well then, I suppose I’ll just get straight to the point.” You study him in silence before continuing. “Do you love Frisk?”

Obviously, your question and the fact that you know who she is takes him off guard, surprise showing on his features before he gets the chance to hide it. You only give him three seconds to answer, and when he doesn’t you sigh, shifting your weight from your right leg to your left, flexing your grip on the handle of your knife.

“I guess that answers my question,” you say, not giving him any time to argue, “Then, I’m going to tell you this one time and one time only, okay? Listen closely.”

You lunge at him, slamming your knife against his neck—or, rather, his vertebrae—and, despite him catching the handle, you hold your stance and continue to press and stare as deep into his sockets as you can. “Frisk is _mine_ . In every sense of the word. I don’t give a flying _fuck_ if you’re in love with her, hell, I don’t care if she’s the only thing that you’re living for.” You pause briefly, remembering the look in her eyes when she spoke about Sans, a mix of sorrow and longing, but most importantly adoration and deep affection; the way that she looks at you. She should only look that way at **_you_ ** _._ “She’s not _yours_ , she will _never_ be _yours_ , she is _mine_ and you are going to stay the _fuck_ away from her.”

He doesn’t seem fazed whatsoever. “or?”

“Or? _Or?_ ” You let him go as he pushes you off, and you take a few steps back, dropping your hand, holding your knife to your side, but still prepared swing it back up if you need to. “ _Or_ I’ll destroy this timeline, and the happy ending Frisk got for us all. It’d be _such_ a shame for all of her hard work to go to waste, after _so_ many failed attempts and RESETS, don’t you think?” You bring your free hand up and nonchalantly look at your nails. “I’ll kill her so many times in such brutal ways you cannot even _imagine_ them. I’ll kill her until she’s _forced_ to make a hard RESET. Or, if you prefer, I could mindbreak her. Wouldn’t that be nice? Little Frisky, as _my_ slave. I’ll have her _all_ to myself. In that state, it would be very easy for me to manipulate her into doing my bidding. Maybe I could even get her to kill. It would be _such_ a tragedy if she happened to hurt her friends like that, without any free will of her own… namely a certain other skeleton you may know.” You smirk as his attack eye glows a bit brighter at that statement, fixating your gaze on the ground. _“_ Oh, the _things_ I could do…”

Glancing back up at him, you patiently wait for a response. But, he stays silent. Inquisitively, you tilt your head. “Do you really think you deserve her? Why, you have done _absolutely_ _nothing_ for her. Such a change of attitude, Mr. ‘you’d be dead where you stand’.” Anger burns your skin as you recall those words, your grip tightening around the plastic in your fingers. The fact that he had the _audacity_ to tell Frisk that, especially after she had shown him _nothing_ but kindness—not to mention that she actually in fact _did_ die on many separate occasions in various agonizing ways—was enough to piss you off on it’s own, but what _really_ pushed you over the edge was Frisk’s reaction. The look of raw terror and shock in her eyes that were full of unshed tears that he just _laughed_ off. The way she laughed with him, fake, broken laughter, on the verge of _crying_ while her whole body was shaking violently. The feelings of sadness and confusion and _betrayal_ because she liked him. _Trusted_ him. She looked up to him. She tried to hide them from you, but they were so overbearing it was pretty much impossible for you not to feel it too. How she just sat there after he left, staring at the counter with dead eyes and biting her trembling bottom lip, gripping the soft material of her sweater as if it was the only thing holding her together and keeping her from bursting into tears. She cared about him, so, _so_ much (why is beyond you) and he told her that he wanted her _dead_ , for no reason except for that he _could._

It took everything in your willpower to not snap and take control of Frisk right then and there so you could chase after him and give him the beating he deserved.

You take a few steps forward, your grip on the blade becoming so tight that you think you may break it.

“And to think you promised to protect her,” you take a small, unnoticeable deep breath to keep yourself from an outburst, slowly shaking your head. “All you did was threaten her. Hurt her. It’s quite funny, I think; if it wasn’t for _me_ she would be dead. Actually, I take that back. Because she _did_ die. But you already know that, don’t you?” You take another step. “Where were you when she was entering fights practically every ten minutes? Where were you when she was being sliced to bits by axes? Where were you when she was lying in the cold snow, choking on her own blood? Where were you when every single limb she had was pierced by spears? Where were you when she sat alone at the resort trying her best not cry because one of the people she cared about most told her they wished she was dead? _Where_ the _fuck_ were you when she was being murdered, refusing to eat because she was afraid she’d run out of food and then subsequently fainting from starvation, lying under a table and having a panic attack, fighting the king and almost snapping and killing him because she just couldn’t take being killed anymore?” Another step. Your voice lowers considerably. “Because, the truth is, she wouldn’t have gotten to where she is today if it weren’t for _me_ . _I_ was the one who guided her. _I_ was the one who protected her. _I_ was the one who was there for her, who consoled her after each and every death, who kept her sanity, who never stopped telling her to stay determined because she was losing hope and no one else fucking would. _Not. You._ ”

In that moment of him hopefully regretting all of the shit he did to Frisk, you catch him off guard and mange kick his shins, giving you enough time to slip behind him and grab him by the neck, pressing the blade of your knife against his bones. You want to kill him. You want to hear him apologize for all that he’s done. To _know_ that he’s sorry, and feel everything he put Frisk through. You want to get rid of him, _dispose of him._ He has no place in this world. Frisk would be so much better off without him. There will be no threat of him stealing her away from you, too, and you won’t have to worry about protecting her from him. You should. You _should_ kill him.

But...

You let go of him.

Strangely enough, you note vaguely, he didn’t do anything in your grasp. None of his stupid tricks or anything. It’s almost as though he expected this outcome…

Which makes you all the more mad and you’re tempted to try to grab for him again and actually kill him this time, but bury the urge with a sigh.

“Though… I cannot kill you.” Despite this, you still hold your knife out in front of you just in case he does decide to try to try anything this time. “For whatever reason, Frisk does in fact care about you. It would cause her too much trauma if you died. She has had enough already.”

And, even if you did, it’d probably be useless in the end anyway, because Frisk would freak out and LOAD if not RESET.

You watch Sans carefully, wondering if he’ll finally say something. At least give you more than one or two word sentences like he has been.

He doesn’t.

He just glares at you, with one socket empty and the other glowing menacingly.

You somehow manage to hate him more than you did previously.

“And,” you decide to go on, trying to tell him that if this whole quiet act is an attempt at intimidating you, it’s not working, “as much as I absolutely hate to even consider it, you and I may have to coexist in the same place. I don’t think you deserve dignity, not in the slightest, but, for the sake of Frisk, I will give you some.”

Momentarily lowering your weapon a bit, you take a deep breath. “I am Chara. I would say, ‘pleased to meet you’, but that would be a lie.”

He stays quiet for a moment, just staring at you before the pinprick of light reappears in his right eye despite his left still glowing slightly, and he nods slowly. “‘preciate your honesty,” he says, although you don’t think it’s genuine at all. “the feeling is mutual."

You glare at him for a moment longer before backing up toward the door, never once turning your back to him or taking your eyes off him.

“My previous words still stand,” you state, holding the doorknob with one hand and still pointing the knife at him with the other. “Frisk is mine. **_Stay away from her_** _._ ”

And then, without waiting for any response, you open the door and leave, not bothering to control your temper enough not to slam it.

 

* * *

 

You’re scared.

No, scared is an understatement.

You’re absolutely terrified.

You and Undyne were escorted into the building together, which, actually, took quite a while, considering the amount of paparazzi and reporters that kept trying to stop you. But, eventually, she had to leave you (despite you begging her not to). So, now you’re alone, waiting in some sort of backstage-like room, waiting for someone to come in and alert you to go on.

By yourself.

…

You hate this.

You don’t have a problem being on your own. Of course you don’t. The majority of your life has been spent being completely alone. You’ve gotten used to it.

But…

Sighing, you slump forward on the desk in front of you.

 _Chaaaaaraaaaaaaa,_ you drawl on in your head, stretching out your arms, only to drop them back down onto the hard wood beneath you when you don’t get any answer. Wherever she is, that _barrier_ between the two of you is up and she’s definitely paying you no mind.

With another loud sigh, you fold your arms under your head, resting your cheek against your skin and glaring at the ground. You think you probably have enough anxiety-fueled-adrenaline to sprint an entire mile without stopping. You have no clue why you thought it was a good idea to agree to becoming The Ambassador—especially when there are so many people who could do a much, _much_ better job than you—when you have a huge fear of public speaking and really just being around large groups of people in general. You’re really just ridiculously _stupid_ sometimes ~~all the time~~. All you want right now is to be back with Chara, wrapped in the safety and warmth of her arms and—

You have a _problem._

Picking yourself up, you halfheartedly comb through your hair because you probably messed it up while lying down like that and lean back into the chair you sitting in. Is she even here yet? Or is she still with that…

“Friend”.

(You’ll have to ask her about that later).

…Actually, why don’t you just go check?

Standing up, you guess you must’ve forgot you _could_ do that. Well, you aren’t _supposed_ to, you were told to wait here, but you don’t really care. You’ll just find the door, take a small peak at whoever’s outside, and see if Chara’s in the crowd. It’s not like you’re going out there or anything, because you could see the problem with that. But, this’ll be quick. No one will even know.

Walking up to the door opposite from the one you came from, you decide that this is the only way that would lead outside. Slowly, as to not be noticed, you grab the doorknob and turn, gently pulling it open—

The metal of the door handle is swiftly pulled out of your grasp as you stumble backwards, blinking in surprise as you almost bump into another person standing in the doorway.

You guess that it’s time. Whether Chara’s actually here or not.

You’re not ready.

 

* * *

 

You end up having to sort of sneak in, because, despite keeping an eye on the time during your “visit”, getting back to the hotel, getting ready, and getting to the actual party took longer than you expected. And, the actual thing itself took longer than you expected. You’re not sure of how much good it did you, but that’s okay. Because that was only his first warning.

That is, his first _and_ final warning until things get a lot more violent.

But you don’t want to think about that right now; you have better things to contemplate.

Like how good Frisk looks in red.

When you came in, Frisk was already out and in front of everyone, and you just had to pause for a moment. Even from a distance, you could still see how good she looks. She’s still tiny, freckled with scars (which have actually become even more less noticeable), but she really is starting to look a lot healthier. And… she may be a lot more developed than you initially thought.

You’ll just keep it at that.

Standing towards the edge of the room as to not be in the middle of the crowd, you try your best to pay attention to what she’s saying, despite your persistent thoughts. You can tell she’s nervous, still, even after speaking for a little while, but she’s doing good. She’s not rushing, and despite the occasional stutter, she doesn’t sound like someone who hasn’t had the slightest bit of experience making speeches. You find yourself wanting to smile at that, but before you can get a chance, something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye.

Towards the back of the room, slightly behind you, is Sans, a few steps away from most of the people and leaning against the wall with his stare intently fixed on Frisk. You’re not sure when he got there, or really how he caught your eye (maybe he moved slightly and you just happened to notice, since, from what you’ve seen so far, there aren’t any other monsters here… or, maybe he teleported and you happened to notice his sudden appearance?), but this is the first you’ve seen of him. Maybe he just came in?

You feel a small bit of victory at the thought. That would mean that you managed to get here before him, despite running a bit late yourself. You suppose maybe he stopped to clean up wherever he was staying a bit, because during your time together, you did attack—or, tried to at least; you do have to give him credit; for what a lazy douche he is most of the time, he is a fairly difficult enemy in a fight—him a few times. And, although they were sort of halfhearted attempts, you did manage to screw up his room a bit.

Whatever the case, you still feel accomplished.

The next few minutes seem to go by slowly. You listen to Frisk for a while, and then, without realizing it, space out. You’re still vaguely aware of what she’s saying, but you’re more caught up with your thoughts, and how much better she’d look pinned up against the wall with that dress unzipped and slipping down her legs—

_Wait what?_

Before you can question yourself, applause spreads across the room, and you slowly raise your hands to applaud too, piecing together the fragments of what Frisk was saying as you were partially zoned out and momentarily forgetting your previous train of thought.

And then she catches your gaze.

It sort of surprises you, considering that the space you’re in is quite large and you’re towards the back, but, you manage a smile, looking back at her as you continue to applaud her. You don’t think she could’ve done this the first day she fell into the Underground. In the beginning, she barely spoke at all, even mentally to you. Practically every conversation she had was completely one sided. Just sentences were rare to hear from her. And yet, here she is now, standing in front of a huge group of people— _adults,_ too—giving an entire speech. She’s come such a far way.

It’s almost like…

You feel proud of her.

...

How strange.

The clapping slowly dissipates, but even as the room goes silent, Frisk doesn’t move. Did you miss something? Is she not done? You drop your hands back to your sides, curiously watching her to see what she does, your attention now fully captured.

“I…” she looks down, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s really not fair for me to stand up here and take all the credit, though.”

You stare at her at her in shock. Is this what you think it is? Is she really going to…?

“I didn’t break the barrier alone. There was someone who helped me my whole way through the Underground, and… since I have the chance…”

She tilts her head slightly, causing the light to catch her eyes in a way that causes your heart to race and only go faster when she looks you in the eye again, “Chara… would you mind coming up here with me, too?”

You just look at her for a moment, your mouth slightly agape, unable to move. You can’t believe this.

Slowly, people around you start realizing who she’s wanting, and a path is made for you through the crowd. Applause erupts again too, and you feel blood rushing to your face. You’ve never been applauded, much less given so much attention at once like this. It feels… foreign; scary, sort of. But, at the same time… it feels good. A little. Of course, if you disregard the fact that everyone here is human.

Gradually, you begin to walk through it, and Frisk is already waiting for you, kneeling down and holding out an arm for you to grab. Her gaze flickers over your body, and her face goes slightly pink, which, once again, gives you a small sense of victory, but she doesn’t waver. You, though, almost do, not able to resist checking her out as well up close. She’s honestly just so… _pretty_ , and you’ve probably noticed before but you never really admitted it to yourself or thought about it in detail. You manage to move and reach forward, grasping her hand and only sort of letting her pull you up, but mostly trying to do it yourself because you’re a lot bigger than her and you don’t want to hurt her.

Away from the microphone, the first thing she does is apologize to you quietly, “I understand if you’re mad at me, Chara. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. I know you don’t like media attention and—”

Wordlessly, you pull your arm away, putting your now free hand on the back of your neck and your other on her back and pull her into yourself.

“Idiot,” you whisper back, “of course I’m not mad at you. How _could_ I be after _that_?”

The clapping increases in volume (you even hear a few cheers), and you have to resist rolling your eyes. Instantly, you feel her relax, putting her hands on your back and grasping at your neck, leaning into your shoulder as soon as she does. As she stills, you notice that she’s shaking a little, still recovering from what she just did, and move both of your hands down to hips in an attempt to hold her tighter. She makes a quiet noise in response, practically falling into you, and you can’t help but laugh a little. You can only imagine her face right now.

“You did good,” you say, “really good.”

She pulls back, still holding onto you, smiling like you just gave her the biggest compliment in the world (are those tears in her eyes, too?) with a still very prevalent  ~~cute~~ blush, “but… I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

You’re not sure if she’s referring to breaking the barrier or to doing her speech (or both) but it still makes you scoff and look away. “That’s not true…”

She opens her mouth to say something that you know will be a protest and probably self deprecating to convince you, so you slip your arm completely around her waist and yank her close to you again.

Her blush darkens and she almost squeaks, her nails digging into your skin slightly. Gently, you push her arms away from you so she lets go, and then pull her around to your side, sliding your arm further down her hips. You smirk, using your other hand to grasp hers, possessively holding her body against your own.

You really hope Sans sees.

“Well,” you begin, speaking in a normal tone of voice again, not really caring if anyone hears you now, “let’s celebrate now, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

You think you’re going to have a heart attack.

You’re so _close_ to Chara and you can literally _feel_ her breathe, her stomach and chest rising and falling slowly, no match for your own rapid and uneven breaths. It’s no fair. How can she be so calm and collected like this while you’re so weak in the knees you can’t even stand on your own?

Eventually, you manage to muster up the strength to nod in response to her question, clinging onto her tightly as she leads you off the stage and down the level of stairs onto the flat ground. She seems to realize you can barely carry yourself, too, because she makes sure to hold you securely against her and will glance over at you every few seconds to seemingly make sure you’re not literally in the process of collapsing to the ground.

You envy her practically constant unwavering composure.

Now that your speech is over with (the hardest part), everyone begins to break off, spreading around the spacious room as drinks start to be served. You continue to stay close to Chara, despite the affect it has on you, gripping onto her arm and pretty much following her around. Thankfully, though she doesn’t seem to mind at all; in fact, you almost want to say that she prefers to be with you. Which, maybe isn’t _that_ far off, considering you’re really the only person—the only human—she knows here, and, considering her distaste for other people, may make a lot of sense.

You’d like to think it’s also because she likes you, too, but you’re not sure exactly how logical that is.

“I’m really happy that you’re here with me,” you say, following her as the both of you stop by a somewhat empty spot near the wall, “I would be totally lost without you.”

“Have you not been to many parties?” she asks, letting go of you, much to your disappointment, but still staying quite close to you.

You nod shyly. “Not really.”

She shrugs, seeming amused. “What makes you think that I have?”

“U-Um…”

Now that you think about it, it wouldn’t really make sense for her to have gone to a lot of parties before she fell. She doesn’t really seem like that sort of person.

“I don’t know, you just seem completely relaxed… like you know what you’re doing, I guess,” you admit, even though it’s not really rare for Chara to seem like she knows what she’s doing even though she may very well not at all.

“If I’m being honest,” she leans against the wall and crosses her arms, “I hate this sort of setting.”

It seems like you were right.

You suddenly feel guilty, looking down at the ground. “S-Sorry... I really didn’t mean to drag you here…”

“Frisk,” her rather exasperated tone causes you to look up again, “I agreed to take you. I heard the details before I came and I knew what I was getting myself into. It’s fine. I don’t really care.

“Besides,” she leans in a bit, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, “I have a feeling that it’s going to be _well_ worth my time.”

Something about her tone sends shivers up your spine even though you’re not sure exactly what she’s alluding to.

She glances past you for a moment, looking at something before standing up straight again. “It looks like they’re serving drinks,” she says, looking back at you, “do you want anything?”

You have no clue what they serve at places and events like this.

You’ve only been to a few parties in your life (probably like five tops) and none of them were anything like this. And, with you age, you’re not sure what you _could_ get.

“I’m okay,” you settle on having nothing instead. You’re not really thirsty, anyway. “Thank you for asking though.”

She ignores that last comment. “Are you sure?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Suit yourself,” there’s a playful edge to her voice now. “Well, I’m going to go and get something for myself, then.”

She begins walking off, and you panic slightly. Is she leaving you?!

“W-Wait!” you begin after her, and she slows down a bit, not bothering to look back, like she knew you were gonna follow after her anyway.

Now too embarrassed to grab back onto her, you latch onto some loose fabric from her dress so you’re not separated from her.

After making your way through the crowd, you stray behind her a little when you reach the counter; you really don’t like how much it looks like a bar. Playing with your fingers, you wait for her, hoping no one will come up to you on your own, because you don’t think you would be able to handle it in your still weakened state.

And then, something catches your eye.

Blinking, you look up, searching the multitude of people for whatever just passed through your vision. You’re not sure what it was; it was so quick and you weren’t paying attention, but you just know that you saw something.

Everything just looks ordinary though.

You glance back to Chara, who stands at the counter while the bartender(?) is getting her something, and decide she won’t notice, walking another few steps away from her.

You see it again.

Whipping around, you desperately try to find this mysterious thing or person, you truthfully have no idea, but your vision is blocked by the mass amount of people. Frustrated, you venture further away from Chara, squeezing past a group of women to help aid your search.

And, finally, when you’re about to give up and get back to her (if she’s still there; you really hope you haven’t lost her already) you see what you were looking for.

In the far corner, a familiar figure standing with his back to you, talking to someone.

_It can’t be…_

You blink rapidly, covering your mouth to keep from audibly gasping, and the only plausible explanation you can think of is that your mind’s finally gotten to you and you’re hallucinating. Because, how, after everything, after crying for nights on end, after endlessly torturing yourself in your mind about his wellbeing, _how_ can he just be here, right in front of you, brought straight to you without you even doing _anything_?

But, even as you push through more people, he’s still standing there, looking completely normal and far too detailed to be a creation of your diluted head.

...Which means, you have to be mistaking him as someone else.

Right?

It’s not like you don’t want to believe it’s him, you really, _really_ do, and you can feel your heart soaring in your chest and a second wave of adrenaline hits you despite you trying to tell yourself that this doesn’t make sense but you can’t get your hopes up like this only to have it end up not being him.

Although, it doesn’t seem like you _could_ mistake him for another person; because you’ve only seen one monster at this party, and that was Undyne.

Despite your mind screaming at you that this is him, this is who you’ve been looking for, crying for, who you’ve been _aching_ to see and you need to get closer to him, touch him, so you know that he’s here and he’s _real_ , you’re still unsure, lingering back just out of his reach and cautiously watching him from a distance. The other person he’s talking to walks off, and he stands still for a moment before turning around, giving you a perfect glimpse of his face.

Your heart stops.

It really is him.

Unable to hold yourself back anymore, you push past the few people in your way and run to him.

“ _Sans!_ ”

He begins to turn all the way towards you, only semi-prepared when you jump into his body and throw your arms around his neck. You feel him stumble a bit, making you think he may fall, but, to your grateful surprise, he quickly steadies out, wrapping his arms around you in return and _oh my god he’s hugging you you’re hugging Sans you’re—_

“hey there, kiddo.”

You feel yourself instinctively relax at the sound of his voice, releasing a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, slowly closing your eyes and relishing in his unexpected amount of warmth, momentarily blocking out any other emotions or thoughts except _Sans_.

Your blissful reverie doesn’t last very long though, probably not more than a few seconds, because you feel yourself being lifted off of the ground and your eyes snap back open in alarm, quickly grabbing a fistful of his shirt with a breathless gasp. Skillfully, Sans begins to twirl you around, and you calm down again, rolling your eyes at him but still laughing in euphoric glee.

Until your laughs turn into silent heaves of your shoulders.

“...kid?”

He tries to pull back, instantly putting you down, but you don’t let him, not wanting him to see you cry. He begins to gently rub your back as an alternative, and, through your tears, you feel yourself smiling again.

“S-Sans,” you manage, taking a moment to get your breathing under control before attempting to continue, “Please… don’t ever disappear like that again, okay?”

He doesn’t speak, the motions of his hand stopping, probably out of shock, and you instantly regret being so _needy_ , and you quickly add, “at least… give us a warning or something before you do.”

He sighs, and you really hope you haven’t upset him, but then he says, “yeah,” in a completely calm and strangely guilty sounding tone, “of course. it was just a one time thing.” You blink in confusion at this, preparing to ask, but he answers for you. “i’ll explain everything later. not here. ‘s kinda complicated.”

His words, although very brief and undetailed, seem so… _heavy_. You’re not sure exactly how to describe it, but there’s something about the way he says it that leads you to believe it’s not nearly as light and simple as “kinda complicated”.

You want to ask more, you want to know, especially because you’ve been wondering about this for so, _so_ _long_ but something inside you already _knows_ that it’s not good at all. And, even though you’re aware that it’s selfish (isn’t there a slight possibility that he could even be in danger right now?) you’re just so _happy_ and it feels so _good_ and you can’t bring yourself to open your mouth and ruin it.

You begin to nod, but he begins trying to pull back again and you shake your head instead, once again tightening your grip and preventing him from doing so. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, quickly wiping away your tears, “I’m just so happy to see you again.”

You take a few seconds to calm yourself down so you know you won’t burst out into tears again, and, thankfully, Sans doesn’t seem to mind, resuming his soft rubbing of your back, patiently waiting until you’re ready, and you find yourself never wanting to let go of him again.

Eventually, you do though (well, partially; you manage to finally pull yourself back to face him but your arms are still tightly wrapped around the back of his neck), knowing you’d have to at some point, pushing your hair out of your face and unable to do anything but just gaze at him with a stupid smile on your face. You should probably be mad at him for disappearing like he did, without any word at all, and, at some points, you _have_ been—furious, even—but right now you just can’t. He probably has good reasons, right? Sans wouldn’t do that to you just because he could.

And, bringing your hand up to absentmindedly trail a finger along his right cheekbone, feeling nothing but your seemingly drug-like happiness induced high, your cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling so hard, after so long, you feel like everything is okay.

“heh,” he brings his hand up from your back and uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away a remaining tear on your cheek before gently patting your head, “i’m glad to see you too, kid.”

You look at him for another few seconds, and then bury your face back in his shoulder, holding him as if you’re life depended on it, earning a fond chuckle from him and another pat on the head. Things are most definitely okay now; way more than okay. And, like this, you somehow think that they may just stay that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I could've written Frisk's speech but... I feel like I wouldn't have done it justice so. It's up for interpretation. Next chapter should be out soon?? I hope?? Don't quote me on that but. I would think it should be this time since I'm not traveling to the other side of the world again this summer.  
> Thanks for sticking with me! I really enjoy reading all of your comments, even though a lot of times it takes me a while to get back to everyone. Happy late Fourth of July if you celebrate that I guess?? Have a good summer and happy travels x. I hope to see everyone soon.


	11. Wishful Thinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would be so much easier if you didn’t like her as much as you do.  
> But that’s just wishful thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay wow I really suck at updating consistently but this is a good 18K words (almost 19) so hopefully that makes up for it lol  
> also, I didn't originally intend for this to be as dirty as it ended up, but oh well I'm happy with it
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in frisk's pov.

You’d always been drawn to Sans ever since you met him.

You’re not sure the exact reason why you were in the beginning; whether it was the fact that you had been wandering around in the dark cold for what felt like years after being killed numerous times by the only mother you’d really ever had and you were just glad to see another person, or if it was something like the way he introduced himself to you, pretty much giving you the idea that he didn’t want to kill you, you don’t know. Maybe it was his laugh, his stupid, contagious laugh that instantly put you at ease, or that he seemed so _happy_ and you really, really needed that sort happiness right then but also because it made you want to help him, get to know him and help him with his problems and worries because you wanted to protect that happiness. You just began to feel so… _comfortable_ with him, you trusted him so easily and so much. There was something about him that made you want to let your guard down. A good, but dangerous quality.

Of course, you ended up doing it anyway.

He was the first person that you let hear your voice in the Underground.

“you don’t talk much, do you, kid?” he was saying to you, and you blinked and looked up at him (despite being fairly short himself, especially for a monster, he still towers over you) not really sure how to respond. Probably figuring you needed a bit more coaxing, he continued, “i was just wondering if you could actually speak.”

And then, seeming uncharacteristically hesitant, he put his hands up, “‘course, it’s alright if you just don’t want to speak or anything, that’s cool too. i was really just curious.”

You weren’t sure what to do.

You willed yourself to say something, but what would you say? You didn’t choose to be completely silent all the time. Your voice would always leave you when you wanted to say something or you were supposed to. Most of your life you were quiet, but you still spoke sometimes. It just seemed like the sheer terror of being thrown into the Underground and being killed and then _coming back_ and not knowing what to expect from monsters so it was best to just keep your mouth shut as to not anger them is what completely silenced you; you knew the benefits to not saying anything.

You ended up just shrugging, probably effectively saying yes to his original question.

That made him laugh a bit, and you felt yourself desperately wanting to say _something_.

“but, well, if you _can_ speak, and you’re willing… my goal is to get you to say more than two words.”

And then he smiled at you, a smile free of his usual mischievousness and instead was so _reassuring_ and you were at a loss. There you were, with someone you trusted, someone who had helped you quite a lot, and maybe it _was_ time to finally speak again. He wouldn’t hurt you for whatever it was you said, and you’d be careful with your words as to make sure not to upset him as well. After all, you couldn’t stay silent this whole time, could you?

It took you a little while, gathering up your courage after such a long period of silence and trying to think of what to say, but, you did manage to do it and with a smile too.

“You failed.”

And, with that look of awe on his face but his smile growing with astonished happiness that you didn’t think you’d ever seen on him before, you mentally congratulated yourself, surprised but pleased with how smooth your voice sounded, and turned on your heels and walked away with a huge smile of your own.

Although, thinking back on it, he really didn’t fail, because after that, you were even more drawn to him, and you began talking to him more and more and eventually you were having full blown conversations with him and all you wanted to do was sit and talk with him.

And now, you know why you’re still drawn to him more than ever, don’t you?

“thinking about something?”

You jump slightly, immediately looking back up at Sans, who’s looking at you with an amused expression.

You look away despite still holding onto him tightly from hugging him because you can’t bring yourself to let go (it’s almost like if you do, he’ll disappear again, and all of this will turn out to be a dream and you’ll wake up) shaking your head and beginning to think up some excuse but then you stop.

Across from you, in a more open space in the room, you notice that people have started to dance.

It surprises you a little; you never really thought of an after party here. Only about the speech. Much less _dancing_ . You guess you forgot about the fact that this _is_ still a party, albeit a formal and fancy one. Maybe that’s why you didn’t expect it? But then again, you know nothing really about what happens at parties.

You can’t help but watch the few pairs of people—couples, you assume—as they gracefully glide across the floor, all holding each other tightly.

A lot like you’re holding Sans right now.

And it makes you wonder…

What would it feel like to dance with Sans?

You immediately try to erase that thought, but images of him holding you and spinning you around much like he was earlier are already in your head before you can stop them, one hand holding yours and the other wrapped around your waist and—

Out of your peripheral vision, you see Sans’s take his eyes off you and follow your gaze, and you quickly turn your head away to look back at him in hopes he won’t figure out what you were doing, but you can tell that he already knows what you were looking at.

“dancing, huh?” he looks back to you, and as soon as he meets your eyes you know that you’re in for it, “that’s what’s on your mind?”

You direct your eyes to the ground again, unable to keep his gaze, growing aware of how he really is holding you like you would be dancing, with his hands resting on the curve of your hips.

You don’t answer him.

Your embarrassed silence brings a laugh out of him, but it doesn’t sound demeaning; he sounds amused, of course, but it’s sounds… affectionate, almost. Like he’s not laughing at your childish desires, but he thinks it’s cute.

Somehow, that makes it all the more embarrassing, though.

Suddenly, he lets go of you, and you finally look at him again, your stomach dropping. You instantly want to grab his hands and put them back, you don’t want to let go of him, you _can’t,_ and you don’t want him to leave, firmly keeping your hands in their original spot.

He seems to expect you to let go, and that shyer part of you wants to do it, wants to run far away and bury your head in your hands but you don’t move.

He looks a bit surprised and confused, but then realization takes over his features. “hey, don’t worry,” he says comfortingly, reaching behind himself and putting his hands on top of yours, “i’m not going anywhere.”

It takes you a minute, but you slowly nod, letting him separate your hands and bring them down, deciding to trust him. Instead of him simply getting you off of him like you expected, he holds your hands with his bony ones, only letting go of one of them and then beginning to gently pull you with him as he begins to walk.

You stumble forward with him, readjusting your hand against his, having to resist running your fingers along his phalanges and just examining his hand because it’s _so much different_ than yours, instead making a note to do it another time in a different setting. Dumbly, you follow after him as he leads you towards the open space where the couples are dancing.

He’s not going to…

“S-Sans…?”

_Is he?_

Settling on a small space for the two of you, he stops, slowly backing up with his hand still entwined with yours.

You really must be dreaming.

“I-I don’t know how to dance,” you blurt, but that doesn’t discourage him.

“that’s fine,” he assures you, slowly leaning forward and _bowing_ _he just_ bowed _for you,_ “you want to, don’t you?”

You quickly bow too as soon as he’s standing upright again, trying to be as steady as he was but knowing you failed, “w-well, yes, but—”

“then i’ll teach you.”

You barely register it as he places hand on your back and your hand on his shoulder, your free hands meeting easily after. “Y-You… you know how to dance?”

He nods simply as if it was just something casual, and, maybe it is, but it still confuses you. “... _How?_ ”

He shrugs, mysterious as always. “i have my ways.”

_What does that mean…?_

You almost ask, but then he begins moving and says, “just follow me.”

Your grip tightens against his hand and you quickly look down to the both of your feet and begin to try to mimic his steps, and then it occurs to you that you’re wearing heels. You can barely even walk in them—hell, you can barely even walk on your _own_ in general; how are you supposed to _dance_ like this?

You’re stumbling over your feet for a while, almost slipping and falling quite a few times, but Sans is ever patient with you, making sure you don’t hurt yourself, and giving you reassuring smiles as if to tell you he isn’t mad at you for not being a prodigy at this on your first try. To your embarrassment, you even step on _him_ once or twice, but, once again, he doesn’t mind a bit, and you don’t think a better person could’ve taught you to dance.

It takes you a few minutes, but you manage to catch on to the movements. He steps backwards, to step forwards. He steps with one leg, you step with the opposite. Of course, in heels it’s about ten times harder than it probably should be, but you find yourself managing fairly okay somehow, and glance up at Sans to see what he thinks.

He’s watching you with a rare smile; once again, not his usual cocky smile, but one much like the very first time you spoke. One full of astonishment and _happiness_ like he’s proud of you and you can’t continue to look at him for very long.

“How’s this?” you murmur as you continue, your feet beginning to match in perfect sync with his.

“well, if ya want me _tibia_ honest,” he begins, and you find it in yourself to shake your head at him, “you’re doing pretty good.”

That makes you smile yourself.

As the song progresses, you begin to relax, switching from watching both of your feet to looking up at him every so often, finally getting yourself together to the point of being able to have a coherent conversation with him.

“You’re good,” you note, staring at his feet in awe before looking up at him again. “Like, _really_ good. I’m jealous.”

“maybe,” he begins, skillfully spinning you, “i’ll give you private dance lessons.”

_Wink._

That makes your face _hot_ , and you know you’re blushing as you go back to your original position.

You practically choke out a laugh. “I’d like that.”

It goes quiet again for a little bit after that, but it’s not a bad quiet. Not awkward, either. Just a peaceful silence of you looking down at your feet and listening to the soft music playing, gliding across the marble floor.

Sans is the one to break the silence this time when you look back up at him, “kid, you aren’t here alone, are you?”

The question takes you a bit off guard. “O-Oh! N-No, I’m not. Um…”

It suddenly dawns on you that you’ve successfully completely left Chara behind and even momentarily forgotten about her.

You feel the urge to break away from Sans and go run and find her, but at the same time, you feel an overwhelming desire to stay right here with Sans and never stop dancing with him.

It makes you all the more guilty.

Although, you suppose, maybe this is okay; if you stay in one place, she’ll be able to find you easier, right? Of course, you’re not sure how pleased she’d be if she saw you dancing with Sans like this, but… you’re not sure what else you can do. Because you can’t leave Sans, and you need to find Chara, so that’s like killing two birds with one stone right?

And, it’s also really your only option because it’s the only thing you can think of.

You feel bad, really bad, especially for leaving Chara alone like this with all these _people_ but… for a few minutes, just a few more, it couldn’t hurt her that much, right? She can defend herself. You haven’t seen Sans for so long and you _need_ this—

“kid?”

You snap out of it, silencing your other thoughts and trying to think of a way of mentioning Chara to him that doesn’t give him _too_ much information. You don’t want to lie to him, but right now probably isn’t the best time to give him the whole “when you fell your excessive amount of DETERMINATION awoke a self-proclaimed demon who’s way too pretty and _perfect_ for her own good and now she’s attached to your soul for pretty much eternity” story. Not to mention that you don’t want to give away personal information that Chara isn’t comfortable with him knowing.

So, you say, “My… best friend drove me here, and she’s staying with me. She’s, um, somewhere here, but… I kinda lost her.” He continues to look at you, not saying anything, and you go on. “It’s okay though. I’m sure I’ll find her. You don’t know her, but…” you look to the ground again, “she’s really great. I don’t think I could live without her, and… I like her alot. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

As soon as you say that, you think that it may not be the greatest thing when they meet, but it isn’t completely untrue; you really do want to show her off. Of course, you’re not particularly sure if you guys _are_ actually _friends_ (that’s never been completely clear, has it? How do you even know if you’re _actually friends_ with someone?) much less _best_ friends, but you don’t know how else you could’ve said that without raising too many questions from him. Either way, you want to talk highly about her. You want to brag about her. Even if she hates you, you want people to see how good she is at heart. And even if you’re just an acquaintance to her, it’s an honor in itself to you to be _something_ to such a great person.

When you glance up at him again, you catch something in his gaze. It’s quickly gone as soon as you meet his eyes, and you’re not even sure you saw it, but… he didn’t look particularly happy, you think.

That is, if you’re not imagining things.

“that’s good. me too, then.” He says, although it seems… off. You’re not sure. You could just be the one being weird here. “but i’m sure if she means that much to you, then she must be pretty okay, kid.”

You nod eagerly. “More than okay.”

It almost goes quiet again, but then you decide to get a bit bold, “by the way…”

But, being bold is hard for you.

He gives you that _smile_ again though, and you try your best to be brave.

It takes you a moment to articulate the question you’re trying to ask, but it’s something you’ve been wondering for a while, so it’s not too bad. “Um… I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but, I’ve just always wondered…

“Why do you call me ‘kid’? Of course, not that I have a problem with it or anything— _I don’t_ —but it’s just… everyone seems to think I’m pretty young. Monsters, I mean.”

He looks sort of confused, raising a brown bone at you. “just how old are you, then?”

You begin feeling confused now, too. How young does he think you are? “Um… not counting the RESETS, I’m…” you mentally count the years, having sort of lost track, “...sixteen. Counting RESETS, I… have no clue. Probably not much older than that, though.”  
For the first time _he_ stumbles a bit, eyeing you with disbelief. “ _sixteen_? are you sure?”

He makes it sound as though you’re crazy. You pout at him childishly, probably not helping him answer in your favor when you ask, “Do I really look _that_ young?”

“that’s not it,” he begins, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

“Don’t bother. It’s okay, I get that all the time.” You offer a quiet laugh. “And even if that’s not what you were going to say, I already know; monsters age differently than humans.”

Not that you know that much about it, but you remember Toriel mentioning it to you at one point, and you figure that’s probably what he meant when he nods in response, looking sort of impressed with you, and for that second you feel the tiniest bit of pride in yourself. It’s probably not the fact that you’re actually _that_ young (sixteen is when you get a lot of adult-like privileges, right?) or even look that way, but that monsters age differently and to them you’re younger.

From what you know, that’s your theory, at least.

You just wanted to tease Sans a bit.

“Although,” you glance at him, “how would you know what human aging looks like?”

“i told ya sweetheart,” you gasp as he dips you with a smirk, “i’ve got my ways.”

Did he just call you…

_Sweetheart?_

Your breath gets caught in your throat. He’s never called you that before. No one has ever called you that before.

You practically fall into him as he lifts you back up, hurrying to get back into position to continue, but, with great disappointment, you hear the song end. You feel a bit scared that he’s going to pull away, that he’s going to go off somewhere else now, but he simply stays in your grasp, and for whatever ridiculous reason, you begin laughing.

“That,” you start, but you’re interrupted by your own laughter, “that was… really, _really_ fun.”

He chuckles with you. “glad i tickled your funny bone, kid.”

You turn away shyly, shielding the side of your face that’s still facing him with your hair. This is just so much for you to take in. Reuniting with Sans _and_ dancing with him in the same hour? You’re going to need _years_ to get over this.

He shifts a bit, like he’s going to move away, and you quickly turn back to him, keeping your grip on him firm. He notices with a sigh, giving your hand a small squeeze.

“i’m not going anywhere, frisk,” he says in probably one of the most sincere tones you’ve ever heard from him, “i promise.”

...Did you hear that correctly?

Did he just…

Make a promise to you…?

With just about any other person, that wouldn’t have been such a big deal. But you know how Sans doesn’t use the word “promise” lightly.

And, he called you by your name too. That’s another first. Just something else to add to your list, you suppose.

You don’t think you could’ve asked for a better reunion with him.

“Okay,” you breathe, “I believe you.”

As proof of your claim, you loosen your hands, slowly sliding them down so both of your hands are wrapped around his. You give them one final squeeze before—

But all your train of thought and action is immediately cut off when you lock eyes with a familiar brunette.

###  _Chapter Eleven: Wishful Thinking_

Honestly, maybe you should’ve just killed Sans when you had the chance.

You know that’s not really a logical thought, you know the repercussions, and even if you were going to actually kill him, you wouldn’t do it without a plan first, but seeing Frisk in his arms, laughing with such unrestrained happiness and looking at him as if he meant the world to her, _dancing_ with him as if he were some sort of _lover_ , a big part of you really thinks that he would be _so_ much better off _dead_.

Slowly, you applaud them, beginning to walk towards Frisk, but stop when she _finally_ lets go of the comedian and runs up to you before you can reach her.

“Sans, this is who I was talking about!” she says excitedly, carefully wrapping her arm with yours and looking up at you to see if it’s okay and murmuring an apology for leaving you. You shrug it off, telling her that it’s fine (the fact that she left you isn’t what you have a problem with; it’s that she _danced_ with _the comedian_ but you don’t blame _her_ for that) and let her, walking easily with her as she leads you directly in front of Sans.

And, you think, maybe the look on his face right now makes everything else worth it.

His eyelights briefly disappear and he glares at you with empty sockets. You can tell that he’s surprised but _very_ bemused that _you’re_ the one Frisk was talking about—in such a loving way too; you _really_ hope that makes him jealous and realize his place as _he_ is not who Frisk considers her best friend. You glare back, taking Frisk’s hand into your own. Thankfully, Frisk doesn’t seem to notice your staredown, too preoccupied with introducing you to each other although, unbeknownst to her, you two already know one another.

“Sooo, Sans, this is Chara, and Chara, this is Sans!” She finishes with such a bright and _happy_ tone and face that you can’t bring yourself to upset her.

You smirk, slightly (mockingly) inclining your head, “It is _very nice_ to meet you, _Sans._ ”

He looks like he’s about to kill you regardless of Frisk being here. “likewise.”

It just encourages you all the more. You’d love to see him _try_. “Well, I’m _very_ _sorry_ to cut your _time_ here with Frisk short, but, I’m afraid that she has somewhere else she needs to be right now. We’ll see you later though, yes?”

With that, you start to drag Frisk off, despite her protests and apologies to Sans, until you’ve reached another free space that’s a few feet away from him.

“Chara? Why...”

She trails off, her gaze locked on your right shoulder as she slowly reaches out to touch it.

“Your arm—”

“It’s nothing,” you cut her off quickly, mentally cursing yourself for not noticing the wound earlier and dodging her hand. You hurriedly change the subject, “But it is quite cute that you’re worried about me… _best friend_.”

She visibly almost falls over.  “ _You_ _heard_ _that_?”

“I hear everything,” you state simply, “including what you said about me to the comedian.”

She looks mortified, and it’s cute _._ “S-Sorry! I really didn’t know what else to say, I didn’t, um, want to give him the wrong idea about you or anything and our situation is pretty complicated and I figured that he’d probably think I hit my head too hard when I fell if I even tried to explain it all,” she takes a breath, somehow saying all of that in one, “And I know that we’re not _actually_ friends especially _best_ friends and I’ll never refer to us as friends ever again if you don’t want me too and I’m _sorry—_ ”

_She really is so cute._

“ _Frisk_ ,” you interrupt her again and she immediately stops, taking another sudden inhale in an attempt to catch her breath, “it’s _alright_ . Although, you were right about one thing. We _aren’t_ friends.”

She instantly looks so _crushed,_ and you almost feel bad for doing this the way you are.

Almost.

You place your hand on her cheek, leaning down and pulling her face towards yours, but momentarily get sidetracked and pause. You’ve never been _this_ close to her face. You’ve never been this close to anyone’s face. And, this close, you can see her face so much better. She has a nice facial structure, her features a lot softer than your own. There’s a small scar hiding behind the fringe of her hair that you’ve never seen before, only visible to you now because of your proximity, still mostly covered. Her skin looks so soft, and, rubbing your thumb against her cheek, you confirm that assumption as a fact. Her eyes are wide under some of the longest eyelashes you’ve ever seen, fluttering in a flattering way. This close, you notice that they’re not actually brown; they’re a very dark hazel. Plush, pink lips are slightly parted, probably from surprise or words that she was going to say but died her in throat when you touched her. They look soft too.

_A part of you wants to find out._

Getting back to what you originally intended on doing, you gently knock your forehead against hers, lingering against her and just admiring her beauty that you’ve somehow never really noticed before reluctantly pulling back and letting go.

You really need to get close to her more often.

“ _Now,_ ” you begin, feeling oddly breathless from doing that, “we’re _officially_ friends.”

You’ll have to thank Asriel for teaching ~~forcing~~ you that later.

It takes her a moment to register what just happened and come back to reality, blinking rapidly and touching her forehead with a confused expression.

Although, that soon turns to realization and then happiness.

“... _best_ friends?” she asks excitedly, bouncing once on the heels of her shoes in a sweetly innocent way, her mood instantly back up now that she understands that you weren’t trying to say that you wanted nothing to do with her.

You shake your head at her. “If that makes you happy to call it that, I suppose so.”

Your voice comes out slightly more irritated (embarrassed) than you intended, but Frisk, like usual, isn’t deterred.

“Yes yes yes! Yes, it would!” She looks so _happy_ and it’s just so ridiculous and so stupid that she’s this happy over something so small and trivial but _it just makes it all the more cute_.

But then it dies when she looks at something over your shoulder, and her smile falls and you don’t have to turn around to know what— _who—_ it is.

She begins to say something, probably apologizing to you and asking for just a second so she could go over there, but you’re not letting her get away that easy.

“Hush.”

Or letting _him_ think Frisk is anything but yours.

She closes her mouth, and you step closer to her again, effectively keeping her quiet. “As he _promised_ , he isn’t going anywhere. I know he won’t. I’ll make sure of it. So don’t worry about him anymore, alright?

“Focus on me.”

Folding one arm behind your back and placing the other across your chest, you bow to her.

She quickly bows in return, lifting her dress slightly and looking at you in slight confusion, but it disappears when you hold out a hand to her.

“May I have this dance?”

Her eyes widen before she quickly averts them, nodding and taking your hand shyly. Smirking, you pull her into you, letting go of her hand and wrapping both of your own around her hips. She quickly grabs onto your neck, red in the face and looking like she may faint. It makes you laugh, holding her tighter to make sure if she does, you’ll catch her.

“Hold on,” you say quietly to her, “and try to keep up.”

 

* * *

 

If you thought you were going to die earlier, you have no clue what that makes you now.

You figured that it was only fair for Chara to be irritated and drag you off after you totally ditched her for Sans; you’re more glad that she isn’t mad at you for it. And, admittedly, a little relieved that their meeting didn’t result in them both trying to kill each other. It sorta sucked that she completely hauled you away like that, but she had every right to do it.

And, with Sans’s promise—you still can’t believe it; he _promised_!—to never up and vanish like he did along with Chara swear to make sure he holds true to his word, you’re not particularly afraid of him leaving you again.

...Ew. _Leaving you_ ? Once again, so _needy_ —

But, that isn’t the point.

The _point_ is, that now you should really stop stressing about Sans because it’s all okay now.

Or, at least you _hope._ You still have no clue what happened and caused his disappearance, but you’ll find out later.

You suppose it’s just hard to believe that he’s back after so long.

Although, it’s also hard to try to get used to the idea, because, with your body practically pressed against Chara’s, it’s hard to have any solid train of thought.

She’s so, so, so _pretty,_ and in a dress you can see so much more of her figure and skin than you ever have on her and you can’t resist admiring her. She’s lean and tall, with long legs, wide hips, and an ample chest and _she could be a model if she wanted to be_ _because_ she’s _that stunning._

“You know how to dance too?” you manage to ask, tearing your eyes away from her body, still feeling like you’re about two inches closer to her from fainting. Somewhere in your muddled mind, you _are_ curious. It doesn’t really seem… like Chara’s sort of thing.

“Yes,” she replies, and there’s a bit of pride in her tone, “I do.”

Your eyes flicker back up to her, silently asking for an explanation because _how_ does everyone know how to dance and _you don’t_ , and a wistful smile graces her face.

“Asriel taught me,” she says, and it takes you a moment to process that statement, but as soon as you do, you can’t help laughing a bit as you try to imagine Asriel in your place, teaching _Chara_ how to dance.

“That must’ve gone, um… well,” you reply, stifling another laugh. The thought of it seems so… _ridiculous,_ with the two of them and their completely conflicting personalities (poor Asriel must have had it rough with that), but there’s also something tragically endearing about it, and your heart aches for the fact that he’s not around anymore to get playfully hit by Chara for stepping on her feet while trying to dance with her.

She remains distant for a moment, probably reminiscing on memories, but her smile quickly turns into a smirk. “Judging by where it’s got me right now, I would say it did.”

And then, she begins to actually move with you, and you shut up and focus.

You try your best to follow her movements, but it doesn’t take long for you to realize that this is a lot harder than your dance with Sans. He was... slower with you, more relaxed so you could keep up. But, Chara doesn’t reduce her speed for you, her steps just about as fast as your racing heartbeat.

There’s something that makes this different.

When you were with Sans, it was almost like... the mood was lighter, the tone of the way he did things was lighter, as if he had different motives than Chara has. This is a lot more…

Intimate.

Not that you don’t like it or anything; you do, you _really do—_ maybe a bit too much. You’ve never thought about dancing with Chara but now that you’re doing it you don’t think you won’t ever _not_ think about doing it again because you’re so _close and you’re never this close and it feels so nice—_

You just wish you didn’t start learning how to dance only a few minutes ago.

“You know,” she begins, drawing you out of your thoughts and capturing your attention once again, “you’re very strange. even after everything I’ve done to you, you... still consider me as a friend. You never stopped trying, even when you got nothing out of it. I’m still not sure you do. I _really_ don’t get you.”

She sounds genuinely confused, like she’s finally realized that you don’t mean any harm to her, but she truly doesn’t understand the concept of you wanting to be friends with her. Like she doesn’t necessarily dislike you as a person, but she didn’t trust you because she thought you would end up hurting her.

You hurt for her.  

“I’ll admit,” she continues, seemingly unaware of the weight of her words, “you really have exceeded my expectations. When you fell, I didn’t expect much of you. You seemed sort of… boring, I think is the word. Cute, maybe. But bland. You seemed exactly like every other human I knew. Nothing noteworthy.”

She studies you intensely, her gaze never leaving you once, but she still knows exactly where she’s going, never stumbling or faltering her steps once (the complete opposite of yourself). It hardly occurs to you that she just called you cute.

“...But, now look at where we are. Somehow, you’ve managed to capture my interest. I truly underestimated you. You’re so unusual and complex. There’s so many unspoken words on your tongue. So much DETERMINATION in your being. So much unwavering hope and light. So many things that you don’t show other people. You’re so merciful even when people are hurting you. _Killing_ you. You’re so _good_.”

She abruptly stops and pulls you still, forcing you to look directly into her brilliant red-brown irises.

“I want to understand you.”

Her gaze is so _intense,_ it feels like she’s literally looking straight through you and into your soul (maybe she _is_ ), and suddenly you find yourself unable to move again, just like the night when she first came to see you in her corporeal form. It feels like she’s slowly disarming you, breaking that barrier between the two of you and _getting inside of your head_ —

Without thinking, you bury your face into her neck, collapsing into her and holding onto her as if your life depended on it, all just so that she can’t see your face.

She lets out a low laugh, easily supporting your weight and running her fingernails along the fabric of your dress. “Why so nervous, hm?”

She moves her mouth to your ear, “ _Afraid I’ll take a bite out of you_?”

Startled, you raise your head again, and she takes it to her advantage, grasping your hands into hers and spinning you out before partially spinning you back in and then forcefully pulling you into her body.

Her hands travel down your hips and to the insides of your thighs, slowly running along their length through the material of your clothing, causing you to shiver. You can feel her own body pressed against your back. She’s so _soft_.

“You’re so quiet…” she murmurs, her hands going further up your legs, “do you enjoy this? Do you like being this close to me? Do you like what I’m doing to you?”

You try to say something, but your mind goes completely blank and it comes out as a breathy sigh instead.

She hums, sounding satisfied at your reaction, and takes your hands in her own, leading you back in front of her, except, this time, positioning you so you’re literally pressed against her.

You don’t think you can keep going like this for much longer.

“Ch-Chara…” you finally manage, almost tripping over yourself, “I can’t do this. I-I’m going to fall.”

“No you’re not. I’ve got you.” She gives you a gentle squeeze as proof of that statement. “Just breathe. This is only a dance.” And then, with a glance downwards, she seems to realize the problem. “Is it the heels?”

You nod, although that’s not the complete truth; of course, the shoes are definitely _part_ of the problem and make this whole thing a lot more complicated, but that’s not the only reason. This closeness is killing you. Your hips are touching hers, and you can feel the softness of her chest against your own. You can feel her breathe, you can feel her breath on your face, and the warmth between your bodies is so _hot_ and all of it is _driving you crazy._

“Keep your shoulders back and pull your core in and up. When you pull up from your center, there’s less pressure on your knees,” she explains to you, and, when you look down, you see that she’s wearing heels as well, still moving gracefully without any trouble as she leads you along, and you absently wonder if she’s good at everything. “Lead with your hips, and make sure you walk in a straight line, one foot following the other.”

Obediently, you take her advice, seeing as she knows what she’s talking about. It helps, but since the shoes aren’t your only problem, it’s not an absolutely groundbreaking change or anything, but it does help, and you’re thankful.

Giving you a moment to figure it out, she then picks up the pace, seeing as you’ve gotten a tiny bit more steady on your feet, and begins to lead you in a more complicated and aggressive dance, holding you as if you’re about to break into pieces and she’s the only thing holding you together. If it wasn’t for the fact that your bodies pressed together, you wouldn’t be able to be following her as well as you are.

“Chara,” you whisper, glancing around yourself briefly, “everyone is looking at us.”

She smirks knowingly. “Good,” her voice drops to a low and possessive tone that makes your legs go dull, “ _now they all_ _know_ _who controls you._ ”

_You gave up trying to be the one in control a while ago._

You feel like you’re floating now, weakly following her steps as best as you can. Her every movement, every angle seem to be planned in advanced. You let her guide you, falling into her step and trying your best to not fall.

“Frisk…”

Her voice is still low, but not nearly as dark as before.

“What do you…”

She moves closer to your face.

 _“Desire?_ ”

You don’t know what to say.

What _do_ you desire?

What do you want out of this?

What do you want from Chara? Is it selfish to want something or something _s_ from her? _Should_ you want something?

You don’t know.

You can’t think.

But the word comes to your mouth without you even having to try.

“...You.”

It almost sounds questioning, because you don’t know if that was the correct response or not, but it is completely true. You want Chara. No matter what it is. You want to be with her and you want her to be happy. Even better, _you_ want to make her happy. Chara is what you want.

She looks surprised for a moment, but then chuckles and nods.

“That’s convenient,” she says, and you cry out when she abruptly dips you, “because _I want you too_.”

Closing the gap between your bodies again, the hands she has around your waist slip lower and pull your hips to hers. Even at this angle, she’s still considerably taller than you, but close enough in height to where she can look you in the eye without much trouble. With a small jerk of her head, she flips her hair out of her face, and then slowly begins to also close the gap between your faces.

A part of you begins to panic—what is she doing? Do you look okay? Are people still watching? She’s not messing with you right now, is she? Is this just something like she did earlier?—but your anxiety is short lived, because you feel one of Chara’s legs slide between your own, and then every part of you doesn’t care what happens as long as _she doesn’t let go._

Despite the fabric of both of your dresses in the way, yours is thin, letting you feel her movements despite the barrier. She pushes her thigh upwards, and, because of how she’s holding you, your weight pushes you down onto it. Slowly, she starts to rub back and forth, pushing your hips down and forcing you to practically _sit_ on her, and a sweet, electric shock travels through you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from making noise.

She doesn’t seem to want you to be quiet, though, because she pulls your hips down to her knee and then presses it against you, making small, slow circles, and that brings a quiet whine from your lips despite you trying to silence it.

She tilts her head slightly to lean in closer, your lips so, _so_ close to touching, and she smells so strongly of citrus and flowers and _sweetness_ that you think you may choke. Your entire body begins to tremble in reaction to the harsh friction between your legs, and you shut your eyes, moving your hands from her neck to the back of her head to pull her _closer_ and snap your lower body up to meet her movements and as soon as you do another jolt of pleasure shoots through your body and you feel the softness of her lips ever so lightly begin to graze against yours and—

“that’s enough.”

It stops.

Your body instantly misses the sensation—it felt _so_ _good why_ did she _stop_ —and you grind your hips forward to try to get _more_ but she’s moved her leg away by now, and, slowly being eased back to reality, you open your eyes.

Chara’s still holding you tightly, although her face is further away now, and she’s not looking at you.

She’s looking at…

“...Sans?”

Dazed and confused, you right yourself and begin to ask what’s wrong, but you stop when you notice something isn’t right.

Everything has stopped.

Everything except the three of you.

“Do you need something?” Chara questions him plainly, tightening her grip on you in a protective way that could’ve made you smile had it not been the current circumstances. She doesn’t seem like she’s going to let go of you anytime soon.

“get away from the kid.”

His voice is low and threatening, and you recognize it to be similar to the chilling one he used when you were first meeting him.

That isn’t a good sign.

Chara narrows her eyes at him, and you can see her composure beginning to ware. “Excuse me?”

And although you don’t know _that_ much about Sans, you do know that he’s a _lot_ more powerful than he lets on to be, and considering all the times Chara used to mention to you how much she wanted to hurt him and all the various ways to do so, you do _not_ like where this is going. You really, _really_ , don’t want them to fight. It would probably end in an inevitable RESET or LOAD or _whatever_ and you _don’t want to do that,_ and you don’t want either of them to get hurt and you most definitely don’t want to see the extent of Sans’s abilities _or_ Chara’s _especially_ on each other.

“Chara,” you say in an attempt to calm her down before Sans can say anything, “it’s okay.”

You lower your voice a little, “please don’t fight.”

That seems to soften both of them a little bit, and you feel bad for basically manipulating them, but it gives you time to think about this for a minute. On one hand, you don’t want to leave Chara, not for a second time, and you do want to know what she was about to do but… On the other hand, you also don’t want them to fight, and Sans seems pretty adamant on getting you to go with him and away from Chara. For whatever reason.

And then, some part of you wonders if it could be about why he disappeared. And _what if he could be in danger right now_ and he doesn’t want Chara to know anything because he doesn’t really know her and he doesn’t trust her?

As much as you don’t want to, you begin to pull away from her.

She doesn’t say anything or try to stop you, but you can tell she’s mad. You whisper a sorry to her and tell her you’ll be back in a second, giving her an apologetic glance before sauntering towards Sans, and telling yourself that this is the best way to handle this situation.

Which could be a lie, but it’s too late to change anything now.

Time starts again.

“Is everything okay—?”

You stop when he grabs your arm suddenly and pulls you to a more empty part of the room.

“Sans, _what—_?”

“the redhead—” he begins, and you cut him off.

“Chara.”

(Could Chara actually be considered a redhead, though? You do suppose her hair is reddish, but it looks more of a brown to you. But whatever.)

“—there’s something off about her,” he finishes, and you start to feel like maybe coming over here with him really wasn’t worth it if _this_ is what he’s going to say.

“What does that mean?”

He looks at you incredulously. “kid, how well do you really know her?”

What exactly is he trying to get at here?

You _want_ to say that you know her well, better than anyone else, because to an extent, that is true. You know her like no one else because she’s been in your head, and she has a connection to you that neither of you have with any other person. You _know_ her. But, at the same time, you also don’t; you don’t know that much about her past, or her secrets. She’s mentioned telling you someday; a lot of times when certain things that were probably sensitive topics came up, she would say that she would tell you about them one day, but she wasn’t ready then. Of course, you haven’t really talked about anything like that in a while, considering how busy all of you have been with everything that’s happened. You don’t know _that_ much about her interests, especially trivial things, like her taste in music or her favorite color. You _want_ to know, you want to know everything about her, but you’re just now really starting to get to know her.

How do you answer that?

It’s not like Sans would really understand, and you don’t think you have the words to explain it.

“Why does it matter?”

So, you dodge the question completely.

“I trust her,” you continue, finding yourself slightly irritated that he’s even asking you this kind of stuff, “and I like her. I know enough about her to consider her my best friend.”

“do you?” he counters, and it makes it sound like he’s making you out to be a liar.

“What do you have against her, anyway?” you ask before he can continue making assumptions about her.

“nothing,” is his answer, and you can’t help but feel that’s not true, “i just don’t think you know what you’re messing with here. you don’t know what she’s capable of, and i don’t want you to get hurt—”

“ _Hurt_?” you repeat, and somewhere in your head you know you should just _shut up_ before you say something that you regret but you’ve been keeping all of this to yourself for _so long_ and you feel too much right now and it’s _overwhelming_ you and you just can’t bring yourself to _care_ , “and since when did you start caring about whether or not I got hurt? It didn’t seem like you cared that much when you _completely disappeared_ for _months_ on end without even _attempting_ to contact me in _any_ _way_. You can’t just show back up and suddenly start caring and trying to play parent because _now_ you feel like it and you feel threatened by the one person who’s actually taken care of me. You’re in _no place_ to order me around and tell me who you think I should hang out with and who will hurt me after what _you_ did.”

It takes you a moment to process what you just came out of your mouth, but when you do, you quickly slap a hand over your mouth. God, you’re _so_ _stupid—_

“I’m sorry,” you say, the sound slightly muffled by your hand, “I didn’t mean to say any of that, and I know none of it’s true and I’m _so sorry_ —”

“kid,” he stops you, and you finally look back up to him, and, to your surprise, he doesn’t look mad. Rather… tired and defeated? “it’s fine. you’re not wrong.”

...You’re not?

He sighs. “look, all i was trying to say is that you should be careful with her, ok? you don’t know what kind of person she really could be. that’s all.”

He sounds so _tired_ and he really looks guilty and you can tell it’s genuine and you feel _terrible_ . Why did you do that in the first place? You’re so happy that he’s back and you _really care_ about him, and you would wait forever if that meant he would eventually come back and honestly you’re really not _that_ mad, so…

Why?

Was it the way he talked about Chara…

...that made you that mad?

“but, frisk,” you direct your gaze back up at him, “now that i’m back, i do plan on being involved with your life—”

“Excuse me?”

He stops, and you turn around, coming face to face with a young woman who looks to be a reporter.

“Do you have a moment? If you don’t mind, I would like to ask you a few questions.”

You glance back to Sans, who you swear looks sort of exasperated, but nods to you regardless. You sigh to yourself, giving the reporter a quiet word of agreement and following after her, mentally apologizing to both Chara and Sans. You’re not sure what you expected; you don’t think you’ll be able to hold a conversation with anyone without being interrupted here.

Although, despite knowing that, it doesn’t spare you from your mind thinking back to everything that’s happened in the past hour or so, and you end up barely paying attention to anything the reporter is talking to you about.

 

 

 

 

You end up not having any time to continue talking with Chara or Sans for the remainder of the party.

After you started walking around a little bit, a lot of people (most from businesses or organizations, or they were reporters) approached you. It didn’t take long for Chara to catch up with you, almost instantly rejoining you after your “talk” with Sans was cut short, and walking around with you as you were introduced to countless people. Unfortunately, although she was right by you the whole time, you never got the chance to say much to her, as you were mostly focused on other people the whole time.

“I’m tired.”

But now that you’re finally alone…

“I never wanna go to a party ever again.”

You have no clue what you wanted to say.

After thanking everyone and saying your goodbyes, you and Chara went outside to wait for your ride (which, this time, is apparently not Undyne) and to just get away from everyone else. You plan to go back in at some point though, if Sans doesn’t come out here, because you want to see him again before you leave, and you know he’s still inside, considering this is the only exit.

“Honestly,” she smiles a little, leaning against the building behind her, “me neither.”

She looks really tired too, and you feel guilt tugging at you again.

“I, um…” you turn so you’re completely facing her, “I really hope that this wasn’t too much for you. I really shouldn’t have forced you to come out here, especially in the same place with someone you don’t like.”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” she tilts her head to look at you, “I _chose_ to do this. It’s fine, alright? It wasn’t _that_ bad. Besides, you didn’t know the comedian was going to be here.”

She crosses her arms. “I _really_ don’t like how he just randomly disappeared for so long without saying anything to you and then showed up today and acted like nothing happened.”

Oh.

So it seems like she didn’t know where he went, although she did notice his disappearance.

Now a part of you is glad you didn’t ask Chara about his whereabouts; you would’ve just been disappointed.

“You…” she studies you, the edge of her tone softening a bit, “that hurt you, didn’t it?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and seems to give away the answer to her. She looks away, moving her stare to the ground. “I can’t _believe_ him. Leaving you like that all of a sudden, and not saying _anything_. He _knows_ how much you care about him. He _knows_ , and he did that anyway. And he came back with full knowledge that you’d accept him with open arms because that’s the kind of person you are; merciful and full of forgiveness. God, just…” she kicks at the ground, and you jump slightly, “ _what_ the _fuck._ _How_ can he do that to you? How is he so _fucking dense_ to not know what he has? How can he just take advantage of you like that?”

She drops her arms back to her sides, slightly balling her hands up and looking at you with an expression that you don’t recognize. “He _doesn’t_ deserve you.”

The way she says it, like it’s a known fact that she’s simply reciting to you, with so much force that you can tell there’s strong drive behind her words, for a second, you don’t think about the meaning behind them or question it, you just believe that it’s true.

...And then you come back to your senses and think about what she said, and you think you may know _what_ the drive behind her words is.

“Chara…” you slowly reach out and take one of her hands, waiting to see if she pulls away before grasping the other and holding them both firmly in your own. “Sans isn’t going to replace you. Ever. I _promise_. Okay?”

“That’s not...”

She looks and sounds so surprised and startled that you think you may actually have come to the wrong conclusion, but you keep going anyway. “You’re both really important to me, but… we don’t have the same relationships. Sans will never be what you are to me. You two are both separate people, and I care about you in two separate ways. He couldn’t care about me the way you do. You’re always going to be my best friend. And no matter how close I am or end up getting with Sans, it won’t change that.”

There’s a tiny hint of pink to her cheeks, and she doesn’t seem to know what to do for a minute, but then she rearranges your hands so hers are on top and she’s the one holding yours. “That’s _not_ what I meant! I didn’t say that just to say it. I said it because I know it’s true. Someone like you… shouldn’t be with someone who treats you the way that he does.”

You stare at her in surprise, your mind going blank for a moment. And then, not being able to help yourself, you start to laugh.

“Th-That wasn’t supposed to be funny!” she jerks a little, like she’s trying to pull back, but you don’t let her.

“Sorry, sorry,” you say, giving her your best apologetic smile, “I swear I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just… you sounded a lot like you actually were my big sister just then.”

The slight blush on her cheeks darkens, and when she pulls her hands away you aren’t able to react fast enough to stop her this time.

“Whatever,” she crosses her arms and backs away from you, refusing to look at you anymore. “Just remember what I said.”

You nod truthfully, because you _know_ you’ll never forget this conversation with her, and you’ll probably think about it for the next few days. You’ve never really thought about how your family situation makes it so Chara’s your sister, but you don’t think it would be hard to get used to the idea. Certainly easier than getting used to Sans being back all of a sudden.

Although, speaking of Sans…

“I’m gonna go inside for a sec, okay? Just need to check on something.”

She looks slightly skeptical, but doesn’t protest. “Don’t take too long. We’ll be leaving soon.”

She still never spares one glance in your direction.

You smile to yourself. Despite being the older one of the two of you, sometimes you think that she acts more like the stereotypical teenager than you do.

You find it super cute though, so you don’t mind.

“‘Kay.”

At a reasonably fast pace, you go inside and begin to look around. You assume, since Sans never came out while you were outside, that he should still be in here. Since the building is multiple stories, there shouldn’t be any other exits, right? Unless there’s another one on this floor, but you don’t think so. That means, then, if he’s not on this one, then he should be—

“looking for someone?”

You swear you almost have a heart attack.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you turn back on your heels to see Sans walking towards you with an annoyingly smug grin, and you make a mental note to yourself to stop being so easy to scare.

“You’re terrible,” you mutter, pretending to be mad, despite you obviously not meaning it, and you plan to continue, but he speaks before you get the chance.

“nah,” he disagrees immediately, and you’re confused for a second but then he says, “i’m sans.”

…

Did he just…?

“I _was_ going to tell you something,” you act like you’re walking away, “but suddenly I don’t really feel like it anymore.”

“aw, don’t be like that,” he takes a few steps back to catch up with you, “c’mon. i know i’m a _bone_ head, but you can tell me anything.”

You stop, finally cracking with a laugh, and raise your hands in defeat. “I know. It’s not anything important.” You play with your fingers. “I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to say sorry about earlier again. I don’t know why I said any of that. It’s not… how I really feel. I’m honestly just happy to finally have you back. And, um…” you pause, just now realizing what you want to ask. And now, you’re not sure if you want to know the answer.

You’re probably just overthinking things again, there’s no way that he’d come and see you and _promise_ not to leave to just take off again or something, right? You know that it’s ridiculous of you to be so worried about this, especially considering the former, but, there’s a possibility that he doesn’t even have a house near where you live now or he has a job (a _real_ job) and he’s not going to be able to come back, and… you’re just afraid to lose him again, you guess.

Still, you need to know.

“I…” you drop your hands and look away, crossing your fingers behind your back, “I _will_ see you after this, right…?”

You hold your breath. You’re probably right, he has better things to do, it’s selfish of you to assume that he’d want or even _be able_ to continue to see you on a regular basis now, _he’s found someone else—_

“ _‘course_ you will, kiddo,” he replies without any hesitation, “i made a promise to you, didn’t i?”

He says it so _easily_ , like he _wants_ to see you again, even after what you said, and all of your worries are resolved, and _you really think too much into things,_ and…

You hug him.

“I’m so happy you’re back,” is all you can think to say, and it feels _so_ good to be able to say that after how long you waited, and with your arms wrapped around him and your head buried in his chest you confirm to yourself again that although despite how this seems way, _way_ too good to be true, he’s _real_ and he’s _here_ and you’re hugging him.

“me too,” he returns the embrace, and you’re just so _happy, “_ i was trying to tell you earlier; that really was a one time thing. those sort of circumstances aren’t ever going to occur again.”

You feel your heart drop. “Circumstances?”

“kid, it’s…” he sighs, he sounds so _exhausted_ and you regret asking but a part of you—a more morbid part—wants to know _even more_ now _,_ “i’ll tell you everything. i will. just not right now. i don’t think you’re ready to deal with it yet.”

You’re mostly relieved but also a little disappointed at the same time.

You’ve wondered for what feels like _forever_ about the reason that he was away for so long, but, from what he’s said, and the way he said it, almost like it hurt him to talk about it, you’re not sure you _want_ to know. It could be something terrible, and although you’ve dealt with your fair share of traumatizing things, if this is something that pains even _Sans_ , then it could be something that you may never want to hear about. And, with what he said, that _you’re_ not ready to deal with it yet, then…

It could have something to do with you, and not just him.

That terrifies you, but you’re not sure if you want it to be your situation, or his. You’d rather take any pain or hardship that he would have to deal with if you had the choice, but… depending on what it is, you don’t know if you’re strong enough.

You want to comfort him, you want to tell him that whatever it is that kept him away from you for so long is behind him now, but none of it would be true, because there’s so much that you _don’t know._

You’re scared, for the both of you, but it’s so much— _too_ much—to think about right now. You _just_ got Sans back, and all you want to do is make up for lost time and forget about the unknown.

You hug him a little tighter.

He notices. “you better not be crying on me again, kid.”

You feel a twinge of embarrassment and pull back to show him he’s wrong. “I-I’m not!”

You quickly notice that he’s not serious by the amused expression on his face, and cross your arms with a huff, realizing that you just ended the embrace without meaning to and slightly regret it.

“...Any _way_ ,” you continue hastily so he has no time to tease you anymore, “if, um… you don’t have anywhere to stay, you can always come live with us.”

“really now,” he raises a brow bone at you, “and have you gotten that approved with tori?”

You mess with some of the fabric on your dress. “W-Well, no, but I doubt she’d mind.”

“if she didn’t, then i’m sure your friend would,” he opposes, and he doesn’t have to say her name for you to know he’s referring to Chara, “besides, it’s fine. pretty sure i have somewhere worked out anyway.”

“So…” you feel yourself getting excited, “does that mean I’ll see you on a daily basis?”

“somethin’ like that.”

It takes all of your willpower to not start jumping up and down clap your hands like a child.

“Where are you staying right now then?” you ask instead, trying desperately to keep your composure. This is _way_ too _good_ to be true. You’re really starting to think this whole day has just been a hallucination or a dream. He’s not going anywhere. He’s staying _near_ you. You’re going to be seeing Sans just about everyday after this.

You _can’t believe it_ .

“a place a few minutes from here,” he replies, and it’s sort of vague; you meant where as in the name of where he’s staying at, but, at this point, it’s good enough for you.

You’re so, _so happy—_

“I, ah…”

You glance behind you towards the door, and it dawns on you that unfortunately you’ll have to leave eventually and you’ve probably taken way longer in here then you should’ve. Chara may come in looking for you, and you don’t want her to have to do that.

Although, for some reason, the idea of leaving him doesn’t bother you that much.

“I have to go…”

Because he’s here now. He’s here and he’s staying and _promised_ you he would.

“But…” you don’t try to hide the smile on your face, “see you tomorrow...?”

Which, should be irrational considering you don’t think you have any way to contact him, but, if he’s found you here, you feel that he’ll find a way if he wants to.

“yeah,” he returns a smile and again, it’s not his usual mischievous one, but it’s _genuine and sweet_ and it’s so hard to resist hugging him again.

You nod happily in return, standing there for a moment and cementing his smile in your mind before giving a halfhearted wave and goodbye before practically taking off in the other direction, trying to quiet your happy, childish giggles.

You think you hear a small “bye, kiddo” from him as you’re leaving, but you’re not completely sure.

And, you have to say; despite how much the distance from him hurt you, and all the mental turmoil it caused, it was _definitely_ worth the wait.

 

 

 

 

As soon as you’re back in your room, you collapse onto the bed.

“I’m going to sleep,” you state, burying your face into the pillow, “goodnight.”

You hear Chara scoff from the other side of the room. “Frisk, no. At least take off your dress first.”

You manage to muster the energy to push yourself onto your side to face her. “But that’s so much work,” you whine, holding out the vowels in your words, “this bed is so much more comfortable.”

She shakes her head at you and you smile, sitting up and walking over to her. Her back is to you, but you feel yourself start to get nervous when you remember what you thought about practically the whole car ride back. “Hey, um, by the way…”

She turns around, putting the change of clothes in her hand onto the desk behind her. “Yes?”

Why did you think it was a good idea to ask about this again?

Your heart pounds in your chest and you avert your eyes, nervously fidgeting with your fingers. You _want_ to know, and if you don’t ask, you’ll regret it. You can do this…

She begins to look a little concerned, and you take a deep breath and force out the words before she can ask if you’re okay.

“What…” you swear _this is going to kill you_ , “what were you going to do earlier?”

She looks taken aback for a moment, and you hurriedly continue even though you’re probably just digging yourself deeper into the hole you’ve dug yourself in by bringing this up in the first place, “I-I mean… earlier, before Sans wanted to talk to me.”

She smirks. _Oh no._

“No, I knew what you meant, I was just a bit surprised,” she says, almost tauntingly, and _what have you started_ , “but, as it seems that you really want to know...

“Just remember that you asked for it.”

Before you can even try to think about what she means, you’re pushed roughly into the wall behind you, and in a split second Chara’s hands are on your back and—wait, is she unzipping your dress?

“Chara? Wh-What are you doing? I thought you were just going to—?”

“Shh,” she whispers as if she was comforting a crying baby, “I am. I told you to take this off, didn’t I? I’m just helping you undress.”

And then, it’s undone, and it’s about to fall off but you instinctively grasp it by the front.

“It’s okay,” the hand she used to unzip the article of clothing is now touching your bare skin, “no need to be nervous. I’ve seen you shirtless before, remember?”

You want to say that you don’t have a bra on under this and she’s never seen your bare chest before, but as she places her other hand on top of yours that are holding your dress up and grabs your wrists, slowly lowering them and replacing them with her body, you can’t get yourself to form the words.

Slowly, she runs her fingers down your back until she reaches the end of the opening of your dress that’s still clinging to your waist, beginning to play with the fabric and pull it open a bit further before slipping her hand inside of it.

Your breath hitches in surprise, but she doesn’t stop, tracing the curve of your hip and cupping it in her palm, pulling you forward so your back is arching towards her. She brings her other hand up to your collarbone, skimming her pointer finger across it before moving it lower down to your chest.

You look back up to her, and you’re met with the same intense look she had given you earlier while the two of you were dancing, and there’s something about it, that same emotion that you can’t place, that completely _kills_ any of your defense mechanisms and makes you want to just give in to her will and be completely at her mercy.

“So obedient,” she notes, grabbing the front of your dress and moving back to pull it down a bit more but then quickly resumes her position, “going along with everything I do… you want it bad, don’t you?”

Her finger hooks around the waistband of your panties, and she plays with it for a moment, pulling it back and snapping it on your skin—not hard enough for it to actually hurt, but enough to make you gasp—before she lets go and traces the hem.

“There’s no one to interrupt us this time,” she murmurs in that same unusually sweet and motherly voice, but in a much huskier tone that makes you want to melt.

She moves her hand down to your inner thigh, and you finally manage to form coherent thoughts and think about the situation you’re in.

This is going so _fast_ — _too fast_ —and you want her to stop so you can focus and speak actual words and _talk_ about this because how far is she going to go? Is this going where you think it is? Does she… really feel that way towards you? Why is she—

In one motion, her hand goes further up and her fingers brush in between your legs and your rational thoughts are gone again, and you don’t care about the hows or whys as long as you _get more_ and _she doesn’t stop._

Ever so lightly, she tilts your chin up towards her and begins to lean in for what you thought you originally asked for, pushing you up the wall slightly to give herself easier access. For the second time today, she gets close, so, _so_ close, and you cherish seeing her face up close (you’ll probably never get over how pretty she is or ever stop admiring her in that respect either) and then close your eyes and wait, wrapping your arms around her hips to speed up the process.

But it never comes.

You open your eyes to see the piercing look gone, replaced with a gentler, faraway one that you don’t think you’ve ever seen before.

“Someday,” she whispers, caressing your cheek, “but not today.”

And then, she begins to pull back.

“W-Wait!” you cry, trying to keep her from leaving. “Y-You’re… not going to…?”

“Not going to what?” she challenges, and you realize that you have no argument.

What _do_ you want her to do? What is it that you’re hoping for?

“Um…”

“That’s what I thought.” Her tone is strangely sort of… sad? Is that what it is? “I’ll show you when you know the answer to that question, okay?”

You blink, feeling like you’ve said something wrong. “Chara…”

“A part of me really wants to do continue anyway…” she suddenly resumes the movement of her fingers, pressing into you and it feels _good,_ “...but I won’t.”

She steps back, heading to the desk to grab her clothes, and you quickly grab the front of your dress that’s now falling down without the pressure of her body to keep it in place.

You have no clue what just happened, but you still feel like you’re burning up and bury your face in your hands. Was all of that just _teasing_ ?  “You’re so _mean_!”

She laughs. “I know.”

Sighing, you sink down onto your knees. Your heart's still pounding.

You miss the warmth.

You miss her touches, the intimacy.

What was she going to do?

What do you want her to do?

Why don’t you _know_?

Clothes are thrown at your face, and you snap out of your thoughts.

“H-Huh…?”

You bring your hands down and grab them. They’re yours.

Chara, now out of her dress and in regular clothes, crosses her arms. She has shoes on. “Get dressed.”

You were planning to, but you’re still confused. Why is she dressed like she’s going somewhere? “What for?”

“You wanted to go look around, right?”

How does she know that? You never said that out loud, did you?

“Yeah, I guess, but—”

“Then get your clothes on and we’ll go.” You stare at her in disbelief, but she seems completely serious. “Or do I _really_ have to take off your dress for you?”

“N-No! I can do it myself!”

She looks amused by that, turning around and getting out her phone. “Whatever you say.”

You stare at her back, clutching the clothes to your chest. Did that really just happen? Did anything that you think happened today actually happen? Is this even real?

Although, real or not, exploring New York City with Chara does sound pretty appealing.

Suddenly you’re not so tired anymore.

Making sure you have a secure grip on your dress, you get up, walking over to the bed to set your clothes down, and then step out of it.

Just when you thought you were beginning to understand Chara…

You really have no idea what’s going on in her head.

 

* * *

 

What are you _thinking?_

You and Frisk almost…

Nevermind _._ Not something you should think about right now.

You don’t know why you did what you did. At first, you just wanted to give Sans the message to _fuck off_ and that Frisk isn’t available for his mistreatment (mistreatment is a _understatement_ ), and, truth be told, you wanted to see what it was like to dance with someone… to dance to with Frisk. You haven’t danced in years, who knows how many, and you liked something about the idea of doing it with her. And then that turned into teasing, because the way she reacts is just so _cute_ , and you know she likes it even if she pretends not to. That developed into wanting to see how _far_ you could fluster her, a desire to see her give into you and let you have control. You wanted her to give herself to you, _not_ the comedian. You wanted to have her, _keep_ her for only yourself. And from there, you started getting way too invested in the physical contact (it’s been _so_ _long_ and you haven’t even touched someone in some of the ways you wanted to touch Frisk) and the way it made you feel, and you didn’t care about anything else anymore, you just wanted Frisk. All of Frisk. You loved the noises she made, you loved making her feel good, you loved being so in control and watching her slowly give into you. And then she told you she wanted to continue from where you had gotten interrupted by the comedian and you just _couldn’t control yourself_ because she _wanted it too, she enjoyed it as much as you did and you wanted more, more, more, more, and she did too, and you still do—_

But you went too far.

She didn’t know what you were doing; hell, she didn’t know what _she_ was doing. You yourself didn’t even know what you were doing. You’d never admit it, but you’re not very experienced with relationships of any sort and the things that come with them and you have _absolutely_ _no fucking clue_ what you’re doing, you just did what felt good and what you wanted.

But that’s not what you should do. You shouldn’t do things without thinking about them because of some stupid reason like “it felt good”.

And you shouldn’t do that to Frisk.

She’s inexperienced too, and you know _a lot_ more than her. She’s so _innocent_ ; she didn’t even know what _periods_ were for fuck’s sake. _She didn’t know what you were doing._

You can’t ruin her purity.

You can’t ruin her innocence.

She doesn’t know what she wants and neither do you, and acting off of just what feels good is going to fuck things up for the both of you big time and you _can’t_ let that happen.

You’re just _so confused_.

You don’t even like humans, and you _shouldn’t_ like Frisk as much as you do. What you did—what you were going to do, what you wanted _so badly_ to do—was something people who…

_It was something people who love each other do._

_Lovers,_ do.

But you _don’t_ love her.

You stupidly loved Asriel even though you _knew_ it was _dumb_ of you to do so and you would just end up getting hurt and hurting him in the end and your relationship with him ended with you both _dead._ And then when you woke up, attached to Frisk, you promised yourself you’d never love again anyone ever again.

You’re not about break that promise and willingly mess up what you have with Frisk.

You _can’t_ lose her.

You can’t lose your best friend again.

And it’s not like you actually _do_ feel like that towards her anyway. She’s so _flawed._ She’s so _stupid_ and _ignorant_ and couldn’t stand up to someone even if she wanted to. She’s self destructive and desperate, always crawling back to the people she loves even though so many of them have hurt her— _murdered_ her—and still actively do, but she’s too stupid to realize that they don’t actually love her and they’re just _using_ her, and they _love_ the way they can just throw her away when they’re done and _she still always comes back._ She never goes for people who are good for her because she’s _so_ _fucking desperate_ for love and attention that she’ll take it in whatever form from whatever person that she can get and doesn’t care about the repercussions. She’s so _weak_ ; so unimpressive with physical and mental strength. She knows there are such bad people out in the world and yet she still continues to blindly put her trust in other people even though _she knows she’s going to get hurt._ She strives to make other people happy like it’s her purpose, even though she owes them nothing and it’s not worth it, and so she buries her real feelings deep inside of herself and never tells anyone about them and lets other people mistreat her because she’s convinced herself that it doesn’t hurt her because she’s so out of touch with her emotions. She still tries to help you and develop a relationship with you even though she _knows_ you’re _not a good person_ and you can’t give her what she needs and you’ll end up hurting her. She’s _so fucking dense and—_

You know all of this.

You _know_.

So, why?

_Why can’t you hate her?_

It would be _so much_ easier if you didn’t like her as much as you do.

But that’s just wishful thinking.

_And you shouldn’t have to try to make yourself dislike her if you don’t already like her more than you should._

Your stomach drops. That’s not it. That’s not why you’re trying to convince yourself to not like her. You don’t love her. _You don’t love her._

_You don’t—_

“Hey,” Frisk, practically sings from besides you, “where are we going anyway?”

You have to think about that for a moment. The truth is, you didn’t actually want to go to a specific place; you just suddenly wanted to get out. To get a breath of fresh air and be away from everything and the situation you had gotten yourself in. To take a walk and clear your mind.

Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to do that on such a whim, but it’s a little late for that. Besides, this day has been full of bad, un-thought-through decisions, so what’s one more?

“On a walk?” which isn’t really an answer, but of course, Frisk doesn’t care.

“Okay!” she agrees easily, seeming content to just be out walking around. Typical. And then she takes your hand and eagerly pulls you along with her with such pure excitement that you’d expect to see of from a child, and you _know_ _you could never hate Frisk._

“Is every big city like this?” she asks, almost running across a busy street but stopping when you gently tug her back.

“They’re similar,” you say, only partially knowing what you’re talking about. “I wouldn’t think a lot of places are as crowded and lively as here, though, considering—if I remember this correctly—New York has the highest population density of any major city in the United States.”

“That sounds right,” she seemingly gets bored of waiting to be able to cross the street and turns and takes a right, “I’ve just never been to city like this.”

There’s this wonder to her voice, she sounds so _amazed_ , almost like she’s never traveled at all. And once again you’re wondering what sort of childhood she had, to be so astonished by such little things that are commonly known by most people.

You’re really going to have to ask her about it one day.

“Also,” her demeanor changes slightly, and she looks a little embarrassed, “what did you mean by ‘be with’ when you were talking about me and Sans at the party?”

...You do remember saying that, but…

You didn’t mean it like that.

It was an honest wording mistake; you were trying to say that she shouldn’t hang around and depend on him so much.

Although, that’s not to say that you most definitely do _not_ want her to “be with” him, and or become his _girlfriend—_

...You’re _not_ envious of him.

_You’re not._

“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” is all you say, and she looks a little relieved and nods.

“Because, I’m _not_ with him,” she confirms with a nervous smile, although it sounds a little too forceful to be her actual true wishes, and you think of a question that you know you probably shouldn’t ask but you _want to know._

“Do you… _want_ to be with him?”

She stops walking, looking at you with surprise, and… fear?

“Wh-What are you saying?” she turns away from you and keeps on walking, “I-I… it doesn’t matter, because I’m _not_. And… it’s not like he’d want to ever be with me anyway.”

There’s something about that answer that you don’t like.

She completely dodged your original question; you asked if _she_ _herself_ wanted to be with him. Be his girlfriend. Lover. She answered for _him_.

And never said that she didn’t like him like that.

You begin to feel a bit sick to your stomach, and your grip on her hand tightens. Just because she didn’t say she didn’t like him doesn’t mean she does. Right? She could just be flustered. She gets flustered easily. That doesn’t mean she…

That doesn’t mean she _loves_ him.

Right?

_Right?_

“Chara?” she’s stopped again, looking at you with concern this time.

“I’m fine,” you reply, because you _are_ . Why should you care who she loves? Why should you care if she _does_ happen to love the comedian? She already said that he wouldn’t ever replace you no matter how close they got, and Frisk has always been true to her word, so it doesn’t matter. You don’t care.

You’re not jealous of him.

She seems skeptical, but doesn’t press it and the two of you continue walking towards a less crowded looking place in the city, a small silence settling between the two of you. Shit, you didn’t mean to do that. You let your stupid mess of emotions show and pushed them onto her—

“I don’t know what kind of person I’d want to be with,” she says, not affected by what your negativity at all and you’re caught off guard. “Or, love, I guess. I’ve thought about it ever since I was little, but once I thought I knew what kind of person I’d end up with, I’d get to know another person and I’d think to myself, ‘oh, I could fall for someone like that’ and my perception would be totally changed.”

You didn’t expect sudden, rather personal confession, but it’s so nice to be hearing about her instead of her trying to help you and giving you advice and talking about what you’ve brought up. You instantly want to know more. You know it’s unrealistic, but you wish she’d just tell you everything about her right now; her childhood, what her parents were like, what kind of person she wants to be with now, all of her interests, what sort of job she may want some day, how many kids she would want to have—if she even wants kids; you want to know that too—her story, her _everything_. You want to know all of it.

But, you’ll start with this.

You think you know why she would be very indecisive and constantly changing about the ideal partner she’d want. You don’t think she actually would necessarily fall for some of those people; she was just in love with saving them. Helping them. Because she’s so empathetic, so understanding, when she got to know them, it would _feel_ like she loved them, but, in reality, she didn’t.

“But,” you begin, wondering how to voice those thoughts to her, “did you really feel like you could love them, or were you in love with the idea of saving people like them?”

She starts to say something, but falls silent, staring at the ground as if she’s trying to think of a response. You prompt her a bit more, “or did you just love the attention they gave you?”

She takes another few seconds to think it over, and then says quietly like she’s just realizing this now, “I… don’t know. I don’t know the answer to either of those questions...”

You want—you _need_ to tell her the right things; if she actually does think she loves Sans, then depending on what you say and how you say it could potentially make her realize that she doesn’t really love him, and you _need_ to do that because he’s not right for her. She’s only going to end up hurt if she gets with him. _He doesn’t deserve her._

“You don’t have to know who you want to spend your life with now. I don’t think most people probably do know at your age, or ever really know for sure until they’re actually married or deeply in love.” And you don’t really know all that much about love or relationships _at all_ and you’re not qualified in the slightest to be giving her this sort of advice and you probably shouldn’t but she needs someone to tell her these things so you have to _try_ . “But you shouldn’t base who you love on who you want to help or save, or because you think you can’t get better, because you _can._ There are so many people, monsters, either one, that would be lucky to have _you,_ and you should find someone who treats you how you deserve to be treated and can provide for you emotionally and physically and give you what you need from a romantic partner.”

She appears to mull what you said over before replying, “I guess I never really thought about it that way…”

And _of_ _course_ she didn’t think about it that way because she wasn’t mainly thinking about herself, she was thinking about the other person.

“Chara,” she glances up again, and there’s that same adoration in her eyes like you were some sort of idol to her that she was just meeting, “I didn’t know you knew so much about stuff like that.”

You quickly look away. “I-I _don’t_ ! I was just using common sense!”

She giggles, using her other hand to cover her mouth because she still refuses to let go of yours, and a part of you is thankful for that, because it gives you a sense of security keeping her close to you like this. A quiet falls between you two again, but you’re not scared this time. A lot of times, as you’ve learned, when Frisk goes quiet, it just means that she’s thinking. She used to do that a lot in the Underground; silences were very frequent then with any conversation with her, _especially_ verbal ones. Frisk is probably one of the only people you can have comfortable silences with.

“What kind of person would you want to be with?” ends up being the conclusion of her thoughts, and once again you’re taken aback by it.

For most of your life, unlike Frisk, you _haven’t_ wanted to love someone. At least, not in a romantic way. You grew to hate humans, and you never wanted to end up with one. The whole love thing just seemed a lot more trouble than it was worth. You didn’t trust anyone not to hurt you in the end, because that’s how it always ends; it’s just human nature. Humans only think about themselves, and inevitably whoever you were with would find someone better and you’d be forgotten. Even relationships that weren’t romantic that you’ve had _always_ ended like that. They would _always_ leave you. Although, if you gave your heart and soul up to the person, and they _left_ you, it would hurt a lot more than just a family member or a friend abandoning you, and you didn’t—don’t—want to ever have to deal with that.

You don’t know if you could.

Therefore, you really have no clue who you’d want to end up with, because you don’t particularly want to end up with _anyone_. Even monsters.

You’ve only ever cared for two people more than just a normal liking or tolerance, which is probably the closest to romantic love you’ll ever get; one was Asriel, and that ended the way it did. So, you suppose, that if you had to pick traits of an ideal partner, they’d probably be something like him. Except, now he’s dead and a soulless flower.

Meaning, the only other person who you could fall for would be…

_It would be Frisk._

But you _don’t love her_ , you’re _never_ going to love her— _not like that._ Not in a romantic way. She’s just a friend. Albeit a close one, but a _friend._ And you _don’t_ love her, and you don’t want a future with her.

...How exactly do you answer that, then? Frisk doesn’t need to know that you feel that way about her…

“I don’t want to fall in love with anyone,” you state simply, which isn’t a lie, most of you _doesn’t_ want to fall in love—no, it’s true, _it’s completely true._

You almost think she may argue with you, being the hopeless romantic she is, flirting with everything that walks— _literally_ —and defend love for you.

“Really? I wish I was like that.”

But, she doesn’t.

She just accepts it…?

Maybe since you only said you don’t _want_ to, which doesn’t necessarily mean that you _won’t_ . You sort of _wanted_ her to defend love for you. You guess you’re mostly surprised since she didn’t see through your blatant cover-up—

_No, it’s true, you don’t need anyone but yourself—_

“I understand why you wouldn’t,” she begins to explain herself, and _good_ , because you didn’t want to have to ask about it, “you’ve probably been hurt one too many times by other people, haven’t you? You can be happy without having a significant other. You may live a better life without constantly worrying who you’ll end up with. Friendships and family relationships can be just as strong as ones between lovers, I think. And, personally,” she takes on more a joking tone, “I think you’d make a super hot bachelorette.”

You roll your eyes. There’s the flirting again. “Yeah, I bet I’d have my own TV show and everything.”

You’re being sarcastic, but Frisk seems to actually consider it. “I mean… you _could_! I bet people would love that! Chara Dreemurr, the savior of the Underground, is also a bachelorette! You’d probably totally kick it in the business world, too. You’d be an inspiration to single women everywhere!”

And then the both of you share a laugh, and after today, it feels so good to just be back with Frisk and laughing again.

“ _You’re_ the savior of the Underground, though, Frisk,” you correct her and she shakes her head.

“No, _we’re_ the saviors of the Underground. I wouldn’t have gotten to where I have without you. You’ve done way more than me. I mean it when I say I couldn’t have done it without you.”

You know there’s no changing her mind on this, so you don’t try to. “At least refer to me as the ‘other’ or ‘second’ one, then.”

And, stubborn as always, she shakes her head again. “Nope! You’re just as important as me and everyone is going to know it.”

“You’re difficult.”

“Yup!”

You give her an irritated look and she only finds that more funny. Although, you glance around, remembering that time exists and so do your surroundings.

“We should probably head back soon,” you say, even though you don’t want to, “I think we just get to relax tomorrow, but we shouldn’t stay out too late or go too far from the hotel.”

She nods. “Yeah. But… can we walk for a little longer?”

You’re not opposed to the idea, but it strikes you as a little weird since the walk back will probably be fairly long as well. “I suppose.”

“It’s just…” she begins to gently swing your arms back and forth, “I really like talking to you.”

“I’ve lived in your head for what’s probably about collectively a year or so, and you still enjoy talking to me?”

She smiles. “More than you know.”

You want to smile too, but you don’t let yourself. “Pathetic.”

“H-Hey!” she pouts at you, “it’s not pathetic! You’re a fun person to talk to!” and then, in a smaller voice and more serious voice, “I… can talk to you about anything. And I really want to get to know you.”

This girl, you swear. “You already know a lot about me.”

“But I want to know _everything_ about you.”

You feel the same way about her, and a part of you really wants to say so, but you keep quiet because that’s just too embarrassing for you to say out loud.

Frisk doesn’t seem to mind your lack of an answer, seemingly silently understanding, even though you don’t say anything.

“You know,” she looks up at the sky, “whoever I end up with…”

She stops walking, reaching upwards as if she could touch the stars, and for a second, you think she forgets you’re here with her.

“I hope...” she closes her fist like she caught one, lowering her hand back down and turning to look at you with such a _stupid_ but so _purely_ _sweet_ smile and _it_ _takes your breath away_ , “...that they’re a lot like you.”

You freeze, staring back at her wordlessly. Did you hear that right? _Did she really just say that?_

You almost think that it’s one of her mindless flirts (you guess it _is_ a flirt, to an extent), but the light that dances in her eyes, and the way she said it so quietly almost as if she was afraid you’d actually hear is just too _sincere_ and you realize that she’s being completely serious with you.

That only makes your heart pound faster, and for some reason, it scares you, but also brings a greater amount of joy that feels so _overwhelming_ considering you don’t think you’ve ever felt like this before, especially not this strongly. It’s like… a strange mix of fear, happiness, excitement, and… determination.

Determination for what, though?

You don’t know, you don’t know if you care enough to figure it out, but you sort of really don’t like it and feeling numb sounds a lot more appealing than this right now.

Although, despite your attempts to will your emotions away and distance yourself from them, you’re quite out of practice, and it doesn’t work. You’ve really been around Frisk too long.

And…

You _really want to just give in._

You force yourself to move, taking a step closer, and you’re so tempted to reach out and _touch her_ but instead you say, “you don’t mean that.”

“But I _do_ ,” she insists, determinedly, you might add, “I’ve always admired you. Even from the start when you hurt me, I admired you. You’re so strong, mentally and physically. You’ve been through _so much_ . You’re damaged, very damaged, but you still keep going.” You don’t tell her that she’s the only reason you keep going. “But you’re not beyond repair. Everyday I can see you getting better. You smile so much more often now. And you trust me. At least a little. You’re letting me in and letting me get to know you and I know it took you a lot to do that and I’m _so happy_ that you did.

“And you’re passionate. Everything that you decide to do, you put your heart into. The people you care about you _love_ and protect. When you love, you love _hard_ . You love with your soul and your entire being. You say a lot that you don’t care, but that’s a lie, isn’t it? You don’t want to care, you don’t let yourself, because when you do you care so much, _too_ much, that a lot of times you end up getting hurt.”

She doesn’t know that that’s exactly how much you care about her and more.

“You’re _good._ I know you’re good. I’ve seen it. I see it in the way you act. In the way that you’ve protected me. Helped me. Even after everything that’s happened to you, with humans, you’re here on the Surface with them. With me. You never meant to do anything wrong. You just wanted to help Asriel and the other monsters. You were brave. It wasn’t your fault everything went wrong. You were trying to do the right thing. I know you don’t believe it, but _I_ _know_ you’re good.”

That’s not true. You didn’t only want to help everyone. You wanted humans to suffer. You wanted to kill. You wanted people to feel the same pain that you did.

You were selfish.

You _are_ selfish.

“I love the way that you understand me. You’re so important to me. I’ve never met anyone like you. No one can make me as happy as you can. No one can talk to me like you can. No one can understand me like you can. I don’t care about anyone like I care about you. You’re everything I could ever ask for. You’re everything that I’ve ever wanted.”

And you know she would go on, she doesn’t look or sound anywhere close to finished, but you don’t want to hear anymore.

Well, that’s not true; you _do_ , but you feel like you may start crying and _that’s not going to happen._ Not right now, not today. You’re not ruining this.

There’s a gentle breeze, and it blows a few strands of Frisk’s hair into her face, and you take the opportunity to touch her this time, grasping them and tucking them back into place, purposefully touching her cheek in the process.

She temporarily goes silent, looking a little shocked and flustered, and you manage to smile a little to to tell her that you’re not mad or that you don’t want to hear what she has to say. You just _can’t_ .

She cares about you so much. She may care about you almost as much as you care about her.

_So…_

You take another step to her.

_Wouldn’t it be alright if…_

You lean in a little, admiring her face for probably the fifth time today.

 _You just kissed her?_ _  
_

You’ve been acting like you’re going to do it all day. You’ve wanted to. She wants you to. This is different than touching or something like that; it’s just a kiss. _Just a kiss._ That can’t do any bad, right? It would be easy, _so, so easy,_ to simply grab her cheek and press your lips against hers—they look so _soft—_ and that would be it. That’s all it would be. Just a kiss. _Only a kiss._

Kisses don’t mean love. That wouldn’t mean you love her.

_But…_

_If you don’t love her…_

_Then why do you want to kiss her so bad?_

You’re not sure, it doesn’t matter, _you don’t care_ , because you _don’t_ love her, you know you don’t.

You bet if you did kiss her, you would be her first kiss.

That would be nice; it would be yours, too. And you would have her before Sans. Her first kiss will be yours.

_You’re going to make sure all of her firsts are yours._

You should do it. You’ve already teased her. You’ve already touched her. You could touch her more, but not now. Not until she knows more. A kiss is innocent. At least, more innocent than everything else you’ve done to her today. This would be nothing compared to all of that. You know she knows what kisses are and what they mean (although in this case, _they don’t mean that you love her_ ). It would be easy. She would like it. You would make sure she would like it.

 _You want to_ so _bad._

You want to feel the softness of her lips against yours. You want to get your hands tangled in her hair. You want to lose yourself. With her. You want to have her breathless, gasping for air, and you want to be too. You want to feel her grasping handfuls of your shirt with one hand and using the other to hold the back of your head so she could deepen the kiss. You want to explore her mouth, every crevice of it, and feel her whimpering into yours. This is something _you know you want._ You want everything about it.

The vulnerability in her eyes is so irresistible. She’s looking at you with _care_ and _adoration_ again. So much of it. Maybe love, too. She could love you.

_She could love you._

You want to kiss her.

You should.

You know you can.

She’s so kind, so good, so pure, so innocent, so merciful, so beautiful. You’ll never deserve her no matter what you do. Giving her pleasures like kisses would at least be a tiny way of giving back to her for what you never can fully give. You’re just rewarding her.

You want to do it. It feels like you _need_ to do it.

But…

_That wouldn’t be right, would it…?_

What she said sounded like a confession; almost— _so_ _close—_ a confession of _love_ but it _wasn’t._ It _wasn’t_ and _you_ _know it._ She never actually said that she loved you.

Although, what she _did_ say sounded _very close_ to that, _synonymous to those three words_ —

But she never said it.

And even if you’re sure that you could kiss her and it wouldn’t mean anything—that wouldn’t mean that _you_ loved her—she probably wouldn’t take it that way. She’s a hopeless romantic. There’s such a good chance that if you did something like that, it would _seem_ like, give her the impression that you _did_ feel that way towards her. And, if, somehow, by whatever insane stroke of luck that you rarely get in your life, she _does_ love you—in that way, too—then doing that, kissing her, would be a very, _very fucked up_ thing for you to do.

And, you _don’t_ know how she feels; you could probably easily check, though. The barrier between the two of yours minds is _extremely thin._ But you don’t think you really want to know. Not right now, at least, and that _wouldn’t be right_ either. If she doesn’t like you, kissing her without her consent, _forcing_ her like you’ve done with _other things_ today, _wouldn’t be right_ and you know she wouldn’t fight you and _give in_ and _you can’t do that to her._

 _You don’t do the right things,_ a voice whispers to you, and you _don’t_ , you aren’t good and you never have been and you normally don’t try to be.

 _Unless_ it’s for Frisk.

That’s the truth, isn’t it?

You’re only good when you’re with Frisk. You’re only good _for_ Frisk. There wouldn’t be any other reasons for you to be.

_But you don’t have to be good._

You _could_ just take what you want and that would be the end of it, _you’re sure if you asked her she would obediently act like this never happened,_ but, for whatever reason _you can’t make yourself do that to her._

You _want to be good for her_ and _good to her._

She thinks you’re good and you don’t want to ruin that image of yourself in her head. You don’t want to hurt her.

It’s _so fucking stupid_ that you’ve let yourself become so _attached_ and so loyal and protective of Frisk and now you can’t even act of your own will because she’s _done something_ to you, and you don’t even know why she’s so special anyway. _There are so many and too many things about this that you don’t know._

Just another reason why you need to think everything over and _not thoughtlessly do things._

And, after tucking a few more stray strands of hair behind her ear, lingering your fingers on her skin, you drop your hand and step away, your only remaining skin to skin contact being your hands that are still joined because the both of you are two weak to let go.

You _swear_ she looks disappointed, _just for a second,_ and you _almost_ go back on your decision and pull her close to you and _kiss her_ but you don’t.

“Let’s go back now, alright?”

This time, you _know_ you see disappointment, and oh how _badly_ you want to give her what she wants— _no,_ what she _thinks_ she wants, she doesn’t _know_ —but that wouldn’t be fair for you to do and you know you can’t, _you have to stay strong and stick to what you know is right._ You’ve already made your decision.

You’ll gladly give her anything she wants, what you want too, but not until you know her true feelings, not until she _says_ them, and not until you figure out yours as well.

You _should_ know by now, doing things impulsively is exceedingly reckless, and reckless decisions get people _hurt_ and _killed,_ and _it’s not a good idea._

“O-Okay…”

The two of you begin heading back, Frisk more following you this time since you know how you got to where you are. She’s quiet now. You don’t like it. You didn’t mean to hurt her with what you did and maybe you could’ve done it better but _it was for the best._

Although, she doesn’t know that.

To her, that probably seemed like you were dismissing her. Like you didn’t care and you didn’t like what she was saying. Why don’t you ever think about her and her feelings? She’s probably just trying to figure herself out, too.

The silence is painful now; you didn’t mean to hurt her, that was what you were trying to avoid doing. But you can’t find anything to say.

You’re _so confused_ about everything.

You don’t want to further confuse her by saying the wrong thing, _you can never say the right things_ , so you don’t say anything.

Is that worse than saying something, _anything_ , that would give her the slightest bit of comfort?

Probably.

Still, Frisk doesn’t let go of your hand, still acting like you didn’t ruin her mood and hurt her. But, she doesn’t try to start conversation either.

She probably thinks that you don’t care about her.

It’s probably sort of irrational on your part to think something like that, but you know how Frisk is; even a tiny thing like that could convince her that you disliked her. You _don’t_ want her to think that.

You don’t say anything until you’re back in your room, though.

Not until you’ve thought through everything just a little, and she’s laying in bed, on top of the covers, probably waiting for you. She looks tired, really tired, and despite whatever she may think that you think about her, she seems at the very least a little joyful.

You think you know why (the fucking comedian), but you try not to think about that.

You turn off the lights, getting into bed with her, which, now, after all of the shit that’s happened today feels… strange. Sort of better than before, but it also makes you feel a bit more flustered than before as well. It’s like something between the two of you has changed. And maybe it has; this is the closest you two have ever been and the closest you’ve ever been to doing things you haven’t done before (you’re not going to even think that word) and the first time you’ve thought about a lot of things involving her and maybe she’s the same way.

Although, it’s probably just you.

“Goodnight,” she says to you, cheerfully, too, but it sounds fake to you.

“No, not yet.”

You reach for her, putting your hand on her shoulder to turn her over so she’s facing you and you can say this to her face, but she’s already turning to face you.

“I just wanted to say...” you hesitate a minute. You know you’ve complimented her before (and even that was hard for you) but this is _different_ somehow and you’re more nervous (scared?) than you have been before but there’s this dumb hope in her eyes and you can’t get yourself to tell her to forget about it.

It’s not that hard.

Just a sentence.

“You’re... everything that I’ve ever wanted, too.”

You can see her face light up as soon as you say those words, even in the dark, and she immediately hugs you and _you hug her back._

It feels so quick, although it’s probably the normal length of a normal embrace but when she pulls back it feels _all too soon_.

“Thank you for today,” she says quietly, looking so _happy,_ and you get what she means. Thank you for enabling her to be here by driving her. Thank you for going to the party even though you hate parties and other people. Thank you for not beating the fuck out of Sans ~~even though he deserved it.~~ Thank you for dancing with her, and walking with her. She doesn’t even have to say any of it because she says it with so much care in her tone and you know that’s what she’s thinking, and _you seriously like this girl more than you should._

“Don’t thank me.”

“But I want to.”

You honestly don’t know why you try to fight her incessant kindness and gratitude when you know it’s never ending.

She playfully pokes you in the shoulder and you sigh at her childishness but do it back to her anyway.

“Goodnight,” she says again, but this time it sounds completely authentic to you and you couldn’t be happier with that. “...Chara.”

“Goodnight, Frisk.”

She doesn’t bother to turn away from you this time, closing her eyes _while she’s_ _facing you._ She’s _close_ , too. You get the urge to touch her again, _you still really want to kiss her_. What if you kissed her while she was asleep? Of course, you’d have to wait a few minutes and hope she’s actually unconscious, but maybe she would just think it was a dream or she imagined it? Would that be the safest way to—

_No._

You have to stop thinking like this.

You force yourself to turn the other way so you’re not tempted to do anything or _watch her sleep_ which you enjoy doing for some demented reason. You need to sleep so you don’t do anything dumb.

You _are_ tired, you want to sleep, but you just  _can't_ stop thinking...

_Why are you so tempted to fall in love with Frisk?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for all of you that are already in school already, I hope you guys are doing okay =(  
> I probably won't update for a while after this because I have to go back too next week, but I'll try my best. although, apparently I have to get back surgery sometime this year or something (??? send help??) and get a metal rod in my spine so?? I'll probably be at home for like a month after that and maybe I'll have free time to write then, who knows


	12. Fault Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no—
> 
> He’s not saying what you think he is, is he— ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> w h o a okay. It's been a while. But this time I swear I have actual excuses. Two family members died (I didn't know them literally whatsoever, so it didn't really affect me emotionally) but there's a lot of craziness involving their funerals and such, I'm sick (again), this school year has been kicking my ass, and I've been doing a lot to prepare for my surgery (like trying to arrange things with my teachers and trying to find out how it's going to work and what things I'll need for recovery). Apparently I'm getting it November 8th so? If anyone was curious and or cares? But yeah, that's been my life for like the past month, and I'll stop ranting about it now.  
> Also?? I just realized this is the first time I'm updating on a Wednesday during the school year but?? First time for everything I guess?
> 
> EDIT: As of 11-4-17, I'm currently heavily editing/possibly rewriting chapters. That shouldn't take too long, so expect a few chapters soon =)
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in chara's pov.

You wake up to the sound of screaming.

Your first thought:

_Frisk._

You quickly get up, reaching for your pocketknife and preparing yourself for a fight, but stop when you see Frisk struggling with the sheets that must’ve gotten tangled around her legs when she tried to get up, stumbling and almost falling but manages to kick herself free. She ends up on the floor anyway, falling to her knees and pushing herself back into the wall, covering her face with her hands and tangling them in her hair, shaking violently.

You stand and watch for a moment in shock, not exactly sure what to do, but quickly force yourself to get over your surprise and you throw your knife onto the table and to run to her side.

You drop to the ground, wrapping your arms around her. You don’t know how to comfort people, but this time you’re going to _try._ She tries to fight you at first (out of panic or not wanting you to see her in her current state, you’re not sure), lightly hitting your chest and attempting to push herself away, but you’re a lot stronger than her and hold onto her tightly, and she quickly gives up.

“Good girl,” you whisper, sighing in relief and pulling her into your lap. As soon as she hears your voice, she completely relaxes against you.

“Ch-Chara…?” she asks quietly in a raw voice, sounding completely out of breath and in a tone like she doesn’t believe you’re really there. You hold onto her a little tighter.

“I’m right here,” you assure her, beginning to rub her back and smooth out her hair. You want to do this _right_ , you _can’t stand_ to see her like this and you don’t want her to suffer alone or think that she has to, so you follow your instinct of what to do, trying to recall how mom would comfort you and Asriel. That seems to confirm your identity for her, and she grasps a handful of your shirt, and, from the sound of it, starts crying.

She sounds so in pain that you almost think she’s physically hurt—you’re pretty sure she’s hyperventilating—but then come to the realization that that would be irrational since you would feel it too. You then think you may have done something wrong and begin to think of things to say that may calm her down, but you don’t know _why_ she’s so upset. And, if she’s really hurting, she should let it out, especially considering how little she’s cried even after everything she’s been through, and you shouldn’t encourage her to continue her habit of burying her emotions.  

Instead, you hold her patiently, combing out her mess of hair gently with your hand, and rubbing her back with the other. The most logical conclusion you can come to with your amount of information is that she probably had a bad dream. It’s the middle of the night, so unless somehow Sans was here and teleported out before you could notice and did something to her (which, you doubt, especially because of how light a sleeper you are, but you wouldn’t put it past him of something that he’d do) or she finally broke after keeping everything to herself for so long, which is also likely, but you don’t think she’d scream like she did if that were the case.

But you’re definitely not going to ask her what happened right now.

It takes a few minutes, but she starts to calm down, her desperate, ragged breaths finally slowing until she’s just panting, and then to quiet, as well as any sounds indicating that she was crying. She slowly lets go of your shirt and manages to free her arms from your grip, placing them around you and returns the embrace weakly. She stays like that for a while, and you don’t mind, telling her that she’s safe now and you’re not going to let anything happen to her.

She pulls back at that, a small smile on her face, and even in the dark it looks like she’s been through hell.

You sigh, wiping at the remaining tears on her cheeks (you guess she had been crying. But, thankfully, her eyes aren’t that red, so it must’ve not been that hard), brushing the hair out of her face, and you almost pull her forward and kiss her on the forehead because _thank god_ she’s okay and you’re proud of her and you want to show her that _you’re here for her, she’s not alone_ , and you’re going to help her, and she’s _the only person you know_ who can smile so genuinely after crying…

 _But you stop yourself,_ because you know you’d go too far.

“Thank you,” she breathes, her voice sounding painfully raw, “I’m sor—”

“Don’t apologize,” you say before she can finish, “don’t be sorry. I don’t mind.”

She looks away, smiling to herself but _still_ _looking guilty,_ and you pull her close again.

“I had a nightmare,” she explains, confirming your assumptions, and rests her head on your shoulder, “but… it seemed really real.”

You wish you could say it wasn’t, that it was just a dream, just a creation of her mind and it’s _not real_ but you don’t know what it was about and it could’ve been, it could’ve been a memory, it…

_It could’ve been about you._

You really,  _really_ , hope it wasn’t, but you’d understand if it was. You’ve hurt her so _badly_ , and _you_ _wish with all of your soul_ that you could take it _back._

You suppose, though, considering how many times she’s died, that, technically, you actually _haven’t really_ hurt her. Not in this timeline.

And now, with her cradled in your arms, those darker timelines feel so _far away._

So _impossible_ to reach and change.

You wish you could forget.

You wish you could go back and change it.

You wish you _never did anything to her in the first place._

You don’t deserve her. You don’t deserve to be the one comforting her. _She_ doesn’t deserve it. She needs someone better, who can _actually take care of her_ and comfort her. You know what it’s like to have really bad nightmares. You used to have them frequently when you were younger. They were so vivid, and sometimes they were _real_ , bad, traumatic memories that you didn’t want to have to relive, and it was _so_ _exhausting_ to be put through that so often, especially because you had no control over yourself and what you did, and not to mention that when you’re sleeping is supposed to be the one time you’re free of everything. You know how terrifying it is, how much it can hurt, and you just know that you’re not capable of giving her proper solace. You can’t help her the way she needs to be helped.

But, right now, she only has you. And even though she should have someone better, someone who can help her the way she helps other people, she doesn’t have that person right now. All she has is you. She needs you to be what she needs.

You have to _try_.

“Do you want to want to talk about it?” you ask gently, and her whole body tenses up and you immediately regret asking.

“Nevermind,” you add quickly, stroking her hair, “we can talk in the morning if you’re feeling up to it. Forget about it for now. Just try to go back to sleep, okay?”

You begin to try to get up, but she grabs onto the back of your shirt and keeps you in place, not moving with you. You stop, beginning to try to pull her back and call out her name. “Frisk?”

“Don’t let go.”

She whispers it, so quietly, and you don’t think you heard her right but then she repeats it louder when you shift a little, “please don’t let go.”

She keeps her face buried in your shoulder, and you’re sure she’s blushing. Sleeping with her is one thing (friends sleep together all the time, right? At least, you and Asriel used to), but physically touching her when you’re sleeping together—

_Cuddling—_

—Is another. You’ve never… done that with someone, you’ve never had the desire to, and doing it with Frisk seems dangerous. You still want to kiss her, for whatever reason ( _not_ because you love her)—you _almost_ _did_ to keep her from apologizing, you _really wanted to_ —and touch her, and do _other things,_ and, if you’re that close to her you don’t think you’ll be able to fall asleep, and if you stay awake you’re going to think about doing _those things_ and when you’re tired you’re _weaker_ and _more_   _stupid_ and you could easily slip up and just _kiss her_ and _touch her_ —

But she’s _begging_ you, and you’re tired and you can never say no to her anyway.

And, despite knowing that you shouldn't, you know you still  _want to_.

“I won’t,” you agree, and she instantly seems happier, “hold on, okay?”

She peeks up at you curiously, but before she can ask what you mean you push her into you, sliding your arm under her legs and easily pick her up.

She’s really light.

She gasps, quickly grabbing onto your neck and holding onto you as if her life depended on it. You laugh, walking over to the bed and leaning down to grab the sheets with her still in your arms.

“I told you to hold on, didn’t I?”

She halfheartedly glares at you and then relaxes, seeming too weak to put up an actual fight against you, and you wish you could do more for her. You wish you knew the right things to say. You wish you knew how to comfort people.

You wish the both of you didn’t have to deal with the things that you do and _you could just be happy._

You somewhat make the bed, as best you can with Frisk in your arms. You don’t mind though. You kind of like holding her. You like how warm she is and how it feels to have her in your arms. It feels natural, like this isn’t the first time that you’ve picked her up. You should do it more often.

You carefully lay her down, climbing in next to her and pulling the covers over the two of you, while she still holds onto your shirt. As soon as you’re settled in with her, she buries her face into your chest, but then quickly backs away and lifts her head up to ask you if she can do that and you’re comfortable with this and you don’t answer, you just wrap your arms around her and put her back into her previous position.

“This way, I’ll know if you have a bad dream, and I’ll wake you up, okay?” you tell her, which, of course, isn’t the only reason that you’re _literally cuddling with Frisk right now_ but you’re just going to pretend that it is and maybe you’ll believe it.

She seems surprised, probably that you even agreed to doing this with her at all, but it doesn’t take her long to get over it, draping her arm around your shoulders to hold you closer and nestling into your chest. You expect self-mortifying embarrassment from doing something like this—and, you suppose, to an extent, that you are _really fucking embarrassed_ , but, it’s not unbearable or shame inducing. Rather, as you rest your chin on Frisk’s head and close your eyes, it’s surprisingly comfortable. She’s warm, and _so_ soft, and there’s something inexplicably comforting about being with her like this. It gives you a sense of security; you can protect her so easily like this; you know she’s safe.

It’s strange, because although this makes your heart race and makes you nervous and makes your face feel like it’s on fire, it’s also equally peaceful and calming. Even though usually when you get up and walk around after sleeping you’re normally awake for good after that, like this, you’re already beginning to get tired.

You shouldn’t like this. You don’t want to get used to it, since, unless you go on another trip with Frisk (which, you know you probably will at some point considering her political status) and somehow have to share a bed with her again, you’re not going to sleep with her again. Of course, the two of you could always sleep together at home, but there shouldn’t be a situation where you would have to. You two have your own rooms and own beds and there would be no reason for you to use each other’s.

You _shouldn'_ _t_ like it.

That doesn’t mean that you actually _do_ hold a distaste for it.

You hate yourself for it, but you don’t have the mental strength to convince yourself that you don’t like cuddling with Frisk. You have the chance now, right? So you should just enjoy it while you can, right? You’ll just make yourself forget about this and how good it feels, _right_?

...You probably won’t be able to do that, but it’s too late to change anything now, so you guess you’re just out of luck.

A part of you doesn’t want to go to sleep—you want to stay up and savor this, savor the feeling of her body tucked against yours, how soft her hair feels slipping through your fingers, her warmth, her scent, how she’s relying on you, _everything about this_ —but you can feel interrupted sleep tugging at your mind and you vaguely promise yourself that at some point soon, you’ll find some way to do this again.

Which, you’re somewhat aware that that’s a fairly immoral thought ( _li_ _terally_ sleeping with her—that’s, by definition, _sleeping with her_ ), but after all the things you’ve done to her today, maybe it’s not so bad.

...You’re also faintly aware that your attempts at self-justifying things need some work.

Underneath your arms, you notice Frisk’s breathing has slowed considerably. You open your eyes again, curiously giving her a few gentle nudges to no reaction. She’s already asleep. _In your arms._

That thought on it’s own is _so cute_ to you (it hardly took her _minutes_ to get to sleep as soon as you pulled her close to you), and you get the urge to tilt her head back so you can see her face.

But that’s creepy, it’s—once again— _watching her sleep,_ and also fucked up, and if you do that you’re _going to want to kiss her again_ and since she’s asleep you know that’s not going to end well for either of you.

And so you force your eyes closed again, the pull of sleep instantly returning, and you settle on just lightly stroking your hand through her hair.

You really, _really_ , like this girl more than you should.

###  _Chapter Twelve: Fault Line_

You don’t remember when you fell asleep last night, but you wake up in Chara’s arms with an unusual sense of comfort and safety and you immediately want to go back to close your eyes and go back to sleep.

But, you hear a faint knock at the door or your room and it doesn’t seem like going back to sleep is an option.

At first, you think it’s your imagination; but then you hear it again, a bit more loudly, and then Chara’s stirring as well. That must be what woke you up from your peaceful state of unconsciousness. You mentally curse whoever’s behind that door.

“Hey…” Chara sits up, unfortunately letting go of you, and you’re tempted to just pull her back down and lay here with her for the rest of the day and whoever’s knocking can wait until tomorrow after you’ve had more time with her. “Is someone knocking?”

She stretches her arms over her head, also still not completely awake yet, and you feel bad for probably making her lose valuable sleep last night.

_Last night…_

Images of your dream—or, a better fitting title would have to be nightmare—flash through your head and you almost feel a little sick, trying to block it out. You know it was important. It was too real to be just a screwed up creation of your mind, and you plan to tell Chara about it and try to work out what it was and what it meant but can’t it just _wait_ for a little while? 

You quickly distract yourself, trying to throw those thoughts to the back of your head for now.

“Yeah, I think so,” you reply, and Chara nods, tiredly pushing herself to the edge of the bed to get up.

You don’t want to get up so soon.

“Wait,” you say hastily, grabbing her hand, “um… I’m sorry about last night, again. I hope I didn’t trouble you too much. You look really tired…”

“Tired?” she repeats, moving slightly closer to you again, and you relax and reluctantly let go of her, “of course I’m tired. It’s early in the morning. That has nothing to do with last night, though. I’ll wake up eventually. And I told you not to be sorry about it or apologize, didn’t I? It wasn’t your fault, anyway.” She stays in place for a moment, and honestly you’re just thankful you’re still in bed with her. And then, “did you sleep well after that? No more nightmares?”

You don’t even have to think about that. “Yeah, I did. I don’t remember even having any dreams after that…”

She smiles, another good, happy smile, and _you love it,_ and then gently ruffles your hair. “That’s good.”

There’s another knock, and you’re disappointed to see whoever it is hasn’t gone away yet.  

“They’re persistent,” Chara notes, and you make a sound of agreement. “I suppose we should answer it. It could be important.”

You know that’s true, but some part of you thinks it’s probably just going to be a reporter who found out where you and Chara were staying or something. And it would really suck if you both got up to see it was only something unimportant.

Although, it is a little weird that a reporter would be knocking at your door at…

“What time is it?” you ask, frowning to see Chara really getting up this time. She checks her phone.

“It’s barely seven,” she answers, and you can tell she’s displeased as well.

Sighing, you push yourself up too and try your best to compose your appearance before heading towards the door.

“Hold on,” Chara calls from behind you, and you stop, turning around mid-step. “It could be dangerous. Let me go first.”

You notice she’s gotten her pocketknife, and let her go in front of you, but follow closely behind her. You hope it isn’t someone who means trouble. You don’t want her to have to hurt someone or vice versa, although, it’s quite rare that Chara is the one to get hurt in a fight.

There’s another knock, and Chara reaches for the doorknob, opening it slowly with you on your tiptoes and grasping onto her shoulders, trying to give yourself enough leverage to see over her annoyingly tall stature. You quickly give up on that, though, and instead push her arms up and wrap your arms around her waist and lean forward so you can see, but when you do, it’s the person you’d least expect it to be.

“Sans?!”

His eyelights drift down from your face to your arms around Chara and there’s a brief moment unmoving silence from the three of you. He looks surprised—dare you say… slightly embarrassed?—and it takes you a minute to catch on to what he could be thinking. This probably looks… weird. There’s one bed in the room, the covers are strewn over it since the two of you didn’t bother to make it because you thought this would be quick. Your hair is messy, and so are your clothes—granted, you don’t even have that much on in the first place—as well are Chara’s. You both probably look fairly tired considering what happened last night, too. It could look like you and Chara were…

_Doing things._

You feel your face go red, and quickly pull away your arms back and step in front of her, burying those thoughts because they’re just too embarrassing to think about _especially_ in front of Sans and hug him. Despite the slight tension in the air it _does_ feel like you haven’t seen him in forever and now that you are you’re really happy.

And, you’re just thankful that he can’t see your face for a bit.

“What are you doing here?” you ask happily, pulling back a little to glance up at him once you feel like you’ve composed yourself a bit. You’re really glad that you did decide to answer the door.

“what, am i not allowed to visit you?” he seems to quickly get over his original assumptions as well, gently patting your head and threading his phalanges through your hair. “did something happen last night?”

You pull away nervously, stepping back a bit so Sans can actually come into the room. _That_ isn’t what he’s thinking, right?

“W-Why do you ask?”

He seems a bit put off by your reaction, tilting his head slightly as he takes your invitation to come in, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. “your eyes are a bit red.”

“Really?” you look away, inwardly sighing. You should’ve expected that; you’re probably going to be feeling the aftereffects of crying last night for at least most of today, especially because you didn’t get very good sleep and now you’re up this early. “It’s… a long story.” _that you definitely don’t want to get into at this time of day._

You would just tell him that you had a nightmare, but then he’d probably ask what it was (and, saying that, implying that you cried over a mere _bad dream_ feels way too childish to you) and you haven’t told Chara yet either. Later, you’ll tell him, but not now. You need some time to process what you saw.

Although, you do sincerely appreciate it that he cares.

He seems to understand, silently nodding to you and not continuing to push it, but you know that he’s going to ask you about it again later. Which, is fine with you. You should be ready by then. You love that he cares about you; it makes you so happy when he openly displays it.

“well,” he goes on, and you look back up at him again, “i wish i could say i came here for a good reason, but i got some bad news for you, kiddo.”

Chara steps forward to your side (and, rather close to you), crossing her arms and the two of you exchange glances. Yours probably nervous, and hers more irritated.

“What ‘news’?”

He hesitates a moment, seeming reluctant, and you’re pretty sure this is going to be something bad. So much for enjoying the last day of this trip.

“we gotta leave,” he says finally, “today.”

Your heart drops.

“...What?”

He looks at you sympathetically, but you’re not so much sad as you are completely confused. The sympathy quickly fades, though, as Chara speaks again.

“And since when do you dictate what Frisk does?” she demands, her voice rising slightly in volume.

It hasn’t even been a full few minutes and they’re already arguing again. You’re starting to think your hopes of them peacefully coexisting aren't very realistic.

“i’m not ‘dictating’ anything,” he replies in the same bitter tone, “it’s not safe for her to stay here anymore.”

You get even more confused at that. “Not safe”? What is he talking about?

“What the hell are you talking about?” Chara echoes your thoughts, and you don’t know if it was intentional or not, but it gives you a little bit of happiness and comfort.

Well, for a second.

“nothing of your concern, _red,_ ” he spits back, and Chara begins reaching for her pocketknife again but you quickly grab her arm to stop her.

“Don’t,” you whisper when she looks toward you for an explanation, slipping your hand down into hers and rubbing tiny circles on her skin with your thumb, “it isn’t worth it.”

She sighs in defeat, giving your hand a firm squeeze before letting go and dropping her arm back to her side.

“look, the reasons don’t really matter right now,” Sans continues, really talking to just you and not Chara, “we just need you out of here soon.”

And even though you don’t understand any of this and you would like to finish out your sort-of vacation (today would be the only actual “vacation” day that you guys got, actually), Sans seems pretty urgent and worried, and you’d much rather leave and be safe than stay and be in danger. Not just you, but Chara and possibly him too. You don’t want to put them in that position either.

You slowly nod your confirmation.

“i’m really sorry, kiddo,” he apologizes, sincerely, “i’ll make it up to ya, ‘kay?”

You nod again, trying not to seem sad about it. It isn’t his fault. And this seems serious. “Talk later?”

But, you’d still like an explanation.

“yeah,” he agrees, that sympathy still present in his voice and his gaze, “talk later.”

Well, at least you have that to look forward to.

Or, maybe not. It could give you all the answers you need, the explanation for everything that’s gone on with him and that somehow concerns you, or it could also completely ruin your life. Maybe both.

You’d much rather be happy about something, though, than stressing about it, so you think you’ll decide to be optimistic about it.

...If you even have the mental willpower to stop yourself from worrying about it.

“Well,” Chara begins, stepping forward and gesturing him to move, “Frisk and I still have to pack, so…” She opens the door, standing back so he has a clear path to get out. “Goodbye for now, comedian.”

You can tell he’s unhappy by her abruptly forcing him out, but he tries not to show it, walking back out the door without any arguments except giving Chara a snide sneer.

“We’ll be out in a few minutes,” you call to him, but before he has the time to reply, Chara all too eagerly shuts the door, and the thick tension in the room is immediately cut.

She stands in place for a moment, probably listening to make sure he’s not still there, and then releases the doorknob and walks back over to you.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” she says, seeming almost just as confused as you are, “but, whatever— _whoever_ it is he’s referring to…” she studies you for a moment, reaching out and gingerly touching your cheek, “I _won’t_ let them hurt you.”

And then, after remaining in that position for a few seconds, _almost_ making you think she’s going to do something, that _one thing_ that she’s been seeming to want to do, but then she turns around, despite the fact that you haven’t given her a response, grabbing a pair of folded clothes she left on the desk and taking them over to her suitcase that’s still slid under the bed. It’s as if she was thinking about it, but ended up deciding against it.

She never ceases to surprise you.

Although you’re sort of disappointed the outcome of your little moment with her just now (you two are having those a lot lately… maybe one day she’ll finally go through with what she wants to do) you smile to yourself. What she said sounded a lot like a promise. A promise to protect you. Chara promised to protect you.

She’s sort of one of your favorite people on earth.

You begin searching the room for your stuff, which, luckily isn’t that hard to locate, since you didn’t actually unpack that much. Maybe, this isn’t so bad. It definitely sucks that you have to leave early, and that you didn’t get to do everything that you wanted to here, but you miss home and the people there. You can’t wait to get back to Toriel and Flowey, and not to mention when you return, you’ll finally have Sans with you. You’ll finally be able to find out the truth. And whatever he was talking about, whoever these mystery people after you are, with Chara and Sans with you, you don’t really feel all that threatened. You’re afraid, sure, especially since you don’t have any idea what it is that you’re at risk by, but…

You are most certainly not alone.

It’s taken you so long to finally process that, but now that you have, now that you know you’re not on your own, you feel that, no matter what you face, no matter what life throws at you, you can handle it. Not just you, but with the help of Chara, Sans, Toriel… everyone. You have so many people who care and who are willing to help you.

You’re sure you’ll have a lot to face when you get home, with everything; your nightmare, whatever happened with Sans and its connection with you, just your job as an ambassador (after all, you haven’t really done or heard much about it besides the party and your encounter with the organization. You have no idea how the whole integration thing is going)... it’s so, _so much_ , but, with everyone by your side…

You’re confident you can do it.

 

 

 

 

Collectively, it takes you and Chara around six minutes to get everything together and get down to the lobby.

Sans is already there, leaned up against a wall and seemingly waiting for the two of you, and while Chara is checking out, you walk over to him.

“Hi,” you greet, lying your suitcase against the wall.

“heya.”

“So…” you, don’t really know where to start, especially since you’re sort of on a timer here. There’s too many things to ask him—too many things you don’t want to get into right now—in this little window of minutes before you guys depart and go home, which, you have no idea how Sans is going to do.

Well, actually, you have one.

Magic, probably.

He’s such a cheater in that respect.

You guess you could offer him to ride with you and Chara, but you doubt he’d accept the invitation. And, having Sans and Chara in an enclosed space for more than a few minutes is definitely _not_ a good idea. You’re not worried, though; Sans is capable, even if sometimes he _really_ doesn’t seem like it.

He glances at you, and you realize you’ve been quiet for too long, and you quickly get your thoughts back on track. You could just wait, you suppose, to have the “talk” you mentioned and have been meaning to have ever since your reunion with Sans. You’re certain you don’t have enough time to get most of what you want to talk about done now, and you probably won’t get a chance until tomorrow at the earliest, considering that all of you will probably be fairly tired upon getting home, and Toriel will want to talk and spend time with you and Chara.

You should be able to ask at least one question, though, right? You think so. But, what is it that you want to know right at this moment?

...Oh! You know.

“...What’s the real reason that we have to leave today?”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you quickly clarify, “I mean, not that I think you’re lying or anything, that’s not what I was trying to say at all, it’s just…” you shift your weight, “saying that I’m not ‘safe’ here anymore isn’t all that specific.”

Your hope is that, since you’re without Chara right now (which, won’t be for much longer, it doesn’t take that long to check out, you think, and you mentally prompt him to hurry up and answer) Sans will be more willing to give you the details, since, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t trust her at all. Well, you _know_ that he doesn’t. You don’t think Sans trusts just about anyone.

...You do hope that he can trust you though, or someday be able to, but you don’t know if you’ll ever be that kind of person to him.

“well, there’s a few more reasons than just this one, but…” he still seems reluctant to tell you anything, and there’s a grim tone to his voice and you hold your breath, crossing your fingers behind your back that it’s not going to be _that bad_ , “there’s been a few legal issues, and…”

Oh no. No, no, no, no, _no, no, no_ —

He’s not saying what you think he is, _is he—_?

“Are you ready to leave?”

You blink, turning around to face Chara, who immediately looks at you in concern when she sees your face.

“Are you okay?”

You just look at her, unable to form the words, and glance back to Sans.

“...we’ll finish this later,” he concludes, standing up straight and beginning to walk away. “have a safe drive back. i’ll see you there.”

And then, he’s gone, out the doors and probably not even in New York anymore.

Chara glares at the doors he left out of, taking his place by your side.

“What did he say to you?” she asks, turning to you when you don’t answer. “Frisk?” she places a hand on your shoulder. “What did he do?”

You swallow, your throat suddenly feeling very dry, forcing yourself to turn to her as well. There’s a numbness to your body that’s making your limbs feel heavy.

“I guess,” you take a deep breath, trying to rid fear from your body, “things aren’t as good as I thought they were.”

Of course, the fear remains, but maybe you should be afraid. After all, if this is what you think it’s about…

Then you should be very, _very afraid._

 

* * *

Frisk is upset by something.

Even though you’re driving, and she quickly falls asleep and stays asleep (which, you definitely expected, considering last night) you can still feel that something is off.

Whatever Sans said to her earlier must have really bothered her.

You didn’t really hear it—all you got was two words—but you think you have somewhat of a clue of what he was trying to tell her.

It has to have something to do with the fact that she’s living with Toriel.

That she’s living with monsters.

It pisses you off how Sans acted about that information towards you— _you’re_ the one who’s supposed to protect Frisk. How the hell are you supposed to do that when he withholds such important information from you?—but you suppose he just hasn’t learned his place yet. He may have an idea about who you are, who you are towards Frisk, but neither of you have told him directly. And you’re pretty sure no one’s default thinking when seeing two girls together would be that one of them fell down a mountain and awoke a years old demon because of her DETERMINATION. You know him and Frisk have been planning to talk and make up lost time from when he was gone or whatever, and you assume you’ll tell him then. And honestly, you’re so tempted to find out when and where they’re going so you can follow them because of many reasons, but one of the bigger ones being you _really_ can’t _wait_ to see _the look on his face_ when she tells him that it’s basically impossible for the two of you to be separated and that it’s necessary for you to stick around. One way or another, you’ll get the information from him that you need. But you guess this time you’ll let it slide, since it’s probably not a huge secret, and you assume that Toriel will probably start talking about it to the two of you pretty much first thing if it is that big of a deal.

He will learn not to be this way towards you soon enough. You’ll make sure of it.

You just wish he had sense enough to not tell Frisk about something like that until the two you got home, at the least. Why was it imperative for him to tell her right before a long drive, just so she could be miserable in a confined space for a hours? And, not only that, but he also didn’t tell her the full story, since you showed up and he left, so she’ll be torturing herself about it _the whole drive._

Maybe it’s a good thing that she fell asleep. That way, she couldn’t work herself up about it.

Although, that arises another problem.

Frisk is sleeping. While you’re awake.

_Right beside you._

You’re thankful that you have to be driving, because if it was in any other situation…

It would just be bad.

You’ll leave it at that.

Although, when you do get home, and stop having the distraction of having to look out at the road, it _definitely does_ become a problem.

She’s still asleep, her head gently resting against the shoulder of the car seat, and the sleeves of her shirt slipping down her shoulders.

Completely unaware.

Completely defenseless.

It would be _so easy_ to just…

_Take what you want from her._

You push yourself up, leaning towards her and using the seat to support yourself.

_You know you shouldn’t be doing this._

Sitting onto your knees, you shift and find a stable and comfortable position.

_You do it anyway._

Her breathing is slow and relaxed, her expression blissful, which, sadly, is now fairly rare to see. She’s always dealing with something, big or small, and she barely ever has any time to just stop and breathe. You’ve never seen her in such a calm state before.

What would she do…

What would she think…

_If you kissed her?_

She probably wouldn’t wake up, you think. If you could do it fast enough, gentle enough, maybe she’d think she dreamt it. Maybe she wouldn’t even acknowledge it at all.

Except, if she did wake up, to you _kissing her_ …

Sometimes you really wish you had your shared RESET ability at your disposal for her, too.

But, if you _did_ do it, would you finally stop getting your ridiculously overwhelming desire to do it? Would it help with your urges for all the other things you want to do to her?

Would it make you _finally stop_ feeling like you want to love her?

Would this be…

... _Worth the consequences_?

Slowly, cautiously, you reach out, cupping the side of her face with your hand and turning her towards yourself. You lean closer, adjusting yourself and changing the position of your legs so you know you’re stable, slightly tilting her head up to give yourself better access. She still looks so peaceful. So innocent.

Would doing something like this be ruining that?

It would be her first kiss. It would be yours. She would never know if you never told her, assuming she doesn’t wake up. Would you ever tell her? Would you be able to?

You hesitate, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. Your hands are shaking.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. This isn’t…

How you want it to be.

You’d rather her be willing. You want her to want her to do it too. As much as you do. You want her to be awake, to see her face, to hear the sounds she makes, to feel her arms wrap around your neck. You want her to like it.

There’s still a chance that you’d never even be able to get in that situation in the first place, and what if this is the only opportunity you’ll get? You deserve at least this, right? For your sake. To help you figure out the confusing feelings you have towards her.

But, as you try to imagine yourself doing it, having to basically lie to Frisk about it—the prospect of telling her being a whole other terrifying circumstance to imagine in itself—for her never to know that you stole her first kiss while she was unconscious...

You’re selfish, and that would be a very selfish act, and Frisk doesn’t deserve to suffer because of your selfishness. You can’t do it. You can’t do that to her.

Lightly, you brush your fingers down her cheek before slowly dropping your hand, pulling it back to your body. You didn’t even actually do anything, but just thinking about doing something like that with her made you so nervous. Your whole body feels hot.

You sigh. This is so hopeless.

Carefully, you lean down, lying your head against her chest. Her skin is fairly cool, which, is a bit strange, considering she’s in the sun and the car is hot. You should really probably wake her up and get the two of you inside so you can face whatever issue there is now, but…

Maybe it’s okay to just stay like this for a moment. Just for a little while.

You look up at her, finding some comfort in the fact that she’s okay for now. In some sort of tranquility. Not having to worry about the many troubles she has to face on a daily basis. Right here, right now, she’s safe, with you.

You…

...can hear her heartbeat.

You sit up for a second, brushing your hair out of the way, tucking it behind your ear before returning to your previous position. You bring your hand up to your chest, pressing your fingers to your neck to feel your own. Hers is a steady beat, much slower compared to yours. Yours is almost racing, like you just ran a few miles, even though all that you’ve done is sit here with her.

“Does your heart beat as fast as mine does when you’re close to me?” you whisper, using your free hand to trace shapes on the skin exposed by her shirt. You don’t expect an answer, but even so, despite the comfort you find in the silence, there’s also something rather sad about it.

And…

Strangely enough, there’s…

 _Something hopeful about it_ , too.

Gently, you take her hand, replacing it with your own that was against your pulse.

“This is what you do to me,” you murmur, still getting no response other than calm breathing. “Even just thinking about you makes me this nervous. All you do is make my heart waver.”

You wait a few seconds, as if you were just talking to her normally and she was awake, letting her feel the proof of your words. Then, you lower her hand back down, gradually laying it back on her lap.

You don’t want to get up. You don’t want to move. You wish you could stay like this forever.

You _wish_ , but you know it’s not realistic.

Reluctantly, you do get up, looking once more at Frisk’s sleeping expression. She hasn’t even moved at all, seemingly completely unaware of your actions.

She’s so cute.

 _How do you feel about me?_ you almost ask, but you can’t make the words. Even though she’s asleep, and you were just talking to her earlier, you can’t make yourself ask that out loud.

It shouldn’t be a problem. Honestly, you shouldn’t even be worried about how she feels about you in the first place.

But, you know why you’re afraid of that question. Of saying it out loud. It would reinforce your fear of your own feelings about her. You don’t even know how _you_ really feel about her, and it terrifies you. You’re sure, deep down, you probably have some grasp of it, and if you did act on some of the things you want to do, then you’re pretty sure you could figure it out, but you’re not about to try to find out. You don’t want to have affection towards her if it’s not returned. You don’t want to get invested in her if she doesn’t care about you the way you care about her. Maybe if she happened to feel the same, then you’d think about it, but if she happened to not return what you felt, you know it would be bad. For everyone. Not just you. You’d do things, things that would hurt other people, again—

It isn’t something you want to think about. You just know you can’t let that happen.

You’re good at lying to yourself. Burying your true feelings until they’re barely there. You should be able to keep your act up until you get to know Frisk better and who she loves and her feelings towards you.

You can. You’re fine with that.

You have to be.

It’s your only choice.

You continue to sit for another second or so, messing around with Frisk’s hair again and smoothing it out (her hair is so soft and thin and pretty and feels like silk between your fingers and if you ever get the chance you’ll have to ask her because you’ve always wanted to play with it _so bad_ ), but then pull back, climbing back to your own seat and forcing yourself to open the door and get out of the car before you have another second to stir with your thoughts and possibly go back on any of your decisions.

Closing the car door quietly, you walk over to Frisk’s side, almost falling because your legs are so weak. You stop in front of her door, putting your hand back to your chest and pressing it against your skin.

Your heart is still pounding. You’re still nervous.

You don’t get it; why things like this have such an effect on you. You don’t get it, you don’t know the reasons why, and it annoys you and _it_ _scares you._ _  
_

You breathe, purposefully avoiding looking at Frisk through the window, and instead glance towards the house. Mom hasn’t noticed your presence yet, thankfully, but if you stand out here for a while, you’re sure she will.

When you feel that your pulse has noticeably slowed down, you reach for the doorknob, but suddenly lose the strength to do it.

How are you supposed to look at Frisk after what you just thought about?

You shake the question away, pulling open the door anyway, ignoring your thoughts.

_Don’t think. Don’t think, just do it._

“Frisk?” you ask, putting a hand on her shoulder and shaking her ever so slightly. “Frisk, wake up.”

She stirs, blinking her eyes open and reaching for your hand, taking it in her own.

“Don’t want to,” she murmurs sleepily, making a weak attempt to tug you towards her. “Let’s sleep for while, yeah?”

You smile at that, tempted to take her up on her suggestion. “I wish,” you say, beginning to pull her up. “Come on, we have clothes to get unpacked and talks about your living situation to have.”

She lets you help her up, but once she’s out, she closes the door behind her and falls into you.

“I’m scared,” she confesses in a whisper into your clothes, “I don’t want to get taken away again.”

Her voice is strained, sounding a lot like she’s going to start crying, and you instantly wrap your arms around her.

“You won’t,” you vow to her, “I won’t let that happen, and neither will mom.”

This time, you’re here to protect her.

Now that you’re here, now that you’re corporeal…

“I swear. You don’t even have to worry about it.”

_...No one is going to hurt her anymore._

“Alright? Let’s go inside now, okay?”

You let go and she pulls away, giving you a scared but determined nod.

You return it, getting your stuff out of trunk and walking to the door with her, taking her hand as soon as you can.

Even though you’ve done things like this before, been much closer to her in much more intimate circumstances, you feel yourself start to get that nervousness again. The littlest of things are starting to get to you.

This _isn’t good._

But, at the same time, despite you knowing much better, despite you knowing that it’s stupid and selfish and you’re going to fuck things up for yourself and everyone if you go along with this…

Your feelings for her, your relationship with her, the way both of them are progressing…

You don’t want them to stop.

 

* * *

 

Toriel gives you a hug as soon as you walk into the door.

It’s not what you’re expecting; well, you’re not actually sure what you were thinking it would be, but it catches you and your feelings of apprehension off guard.

You think you’re probably just relieved that there aren’t men in suits waiting to come and drag you away from your family.

_Again—_

“Are you two alright? Did anything happen?” she asks as soon as she lets go, and you can’t help but smiling. You truly don’t deserve such a caring mother like Toriel. 

“We’re fine, mom,” you assure her, “everything went fine.”

Relief quickly floods her face and demeanor. “Thank goodness,” she says, walking behind you and Chara and shutting the door. You expect her to start talking about the reason why you had to leave, and tell you that you can’t legally stay here anymore, you knew that this wouldn’t last forever, things as good as this never do, but she doesn’t. She walks out of the room, looking as though she’s going to get something, and Chara begins to walk upstairs with both of your suitcases.

Just like everything’s normal. Like everything’s fine.

Maybe this isn’t as big of a deal as you thought.

You don’t let yourself feel the relief that you want to, though, because if this is in fact as bad as you thought it was, then feeling your it get crushed would be even worse than just continuing to worry about it until you get clarification. You know that feeling. You have an issue with getting your hopes up for things, especially when odds are definitely not on your side, and you always make it end up worse for yourself.

Although, when you rush after Chara and tell her you can carry your own stuff and that she doesn’t have to, you find yourself hoping that, even if it’s in vain, maybe you can finally put your past behind you and find a way to have a happy life here with everyone.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was going to try to double update, since I like doing that when I feel a chapter hasn't progressed the plot that much, but I'm going to be gone all weekend and weekends are normally the only time I can write for an extended period of time, and I realized it would be a while before I would be able to get another chapter out as well, so I just decided to go ahead upload this while I have time off. I mean I'm going to try to update as much as I can before I lose a lot of time to my operation. Hopefully it won't be too much of a wait though? Also, for all the Frisk/Sans fans out there, frans finally starts picking up in the next chapter so something to look forward to?


	13. Blind Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “remember the first time we met?”  
> You nod, and maybe a bit too quickly, because Sans’s voice suddenly drops to a much lower octave.  
> “that wasn’t the first time, was it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's going to get two metal rods in their spine tomorrow??!!! three days after their birthday??!! me!!!1!  
> lmao but anyway. I'll probably have tons of free time to work on this story which I'm really excited about, but I'll be on haRD DRUGS (narcotics) for like two weeks after the surgery, and I'm guessing I won't be able to write very coherent things in that time period.  
> Also, I didn't get to work and edit everything nearly as much as I wanted to. I completely ran out of time and I'm so annoyed. I really want to get these chapters out before my back is cut open and everything devolves into complete chaos though, so I'm just going to go ahead and put these out right now and polish everything else later. I apologize for my insane schedule. Everything should go back to normal soon.
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in frisk's pov.

Maybe your hoping wasn’t actually as fruitless as you thought.

After all, as it turns out, you aren’t in any immediate danger.

After you had gotten settled back in at your home again, Toriel came in your room and talked to you and Chara about why you had to leave, and it actually wasn’t as bad as you were thinking. You were right about your concerns, though; it was about your living situation. Although, you’re still technically under some sort of legal custody of Toriel (thank _god_ ), and it’s not like you’re going to be shoved into some sort of foster family or taken away again or forced back into your old home. At the moment, at least. Maybe that wouldn’t be plausible, though. You have no clue where the current remnants of your family are, and you haven’t had any contact with them whatsoever so far, so you don’t think that’s a threat to you. Which, is good. In comparison to the other possibilities of where you could be thrown, that would definitely be one of the worst.

Of course, you still wonder about them, though; your family. How they are. What they’re doing. If they know about you and what you do now. Well, probably; you’re all over television and news, and you’re pretty sure most people with internet access know who you are. It would be stupid of you to assume they didn’t. But, then again, if they do know about you, then…

Shouldn’t they have made some kind of effort to contact you?

It’s not like you _want_ to go back, that’s not it at all. It’s just…

You don’t know. You don’t know what it is.

Maybe it’s just another thing where there’s too many things that you simply _don’t know_.

But you don’t think you’ll ask. If you don’t end up finding out naturally, then you simply won’t know. This time, you think you truly are better off not knowing.

Basically, you left because staying there would be sort of like a tempt towards people who _would_ want to come and get you. Despite not having the direct threat of being taken out of your home, it doesn’t mean that there aren’t people who don’t want you here, living with monsters and all. You were fairly vulnerable like that, staying at a hotel not with much security aside from Chara, and even though you know she probably could protect the both of you quite well, you know why it wouldn’t seem like a smart idea to anyone else. Especially to Toriel, her being the mother of the both of you and everything. She wouldn’t want to put Chara in that position, and risk either of you getting hurt if possible.

It still isn’t the best situation, but you’re just happy that you’re still here.

You slept well the night you got back.

It was nice to be back in your own bed. Needless to say it felt a bit empty without Chara sleeping with you (unfortunately you know you’re going to miss that), but being back home feels good.

And, you know Flowey missed you.

The first thing he did when he saw you was pull your soul into a fight. He didn’t actually do anything to hurt you—you spared him and it was fine, although it did shake you up a bit—but you still saw the spark of happiness in his eyes despite his attempt seemingly to try to distract you from it. Not to mention the fact that although he normally carries himself with a mock cheerful and friendly way, when you got back, it seemed strangely genuine. Just a little, but you still caught it. You know Flowey can’t truly feel things, but you see little bits of Asriel in him. He’s still there.

There’s still hope for him.

And, now that you’re back, you’re going to make sure that trying to help him in whatever ways possible is one of your top priorities.

And, speaking of priorities…

You have that “talk” with Sans today.

You probably should be a bit more worried than you are, but, when he called you this morning about it, asking if you wanted to go somewhere with him, it sounded to you a lot like he was…

...like _he was asking you out on a date._

You know that’s not what it is, that’s not what his intentions were, but… to you, it still feels like one. You’re going somewhere, alone with him, right? That’s _basically_ a date, right?

You know that’s not how it works, but you’re still really excited about it. So much that the fear you probably should be feeling isn’t as present as it should be.

You end up taking a lot longer to get ready than normal.

“I’m going out!” you announce when you go downstairs, explaining more when you see Toriel, “is that okay? Sans invited me.”

“Oh? Is that so?” she tilts her her head slightly, seeming amused, and you almost think she’s going to ask some embarrassing question about the two of you’s relationship, but thankfully she doesn’t push it any further. “Alright. Just make sure to be back before dinner.”

“Okay,” you say, giving her a two finger salute, “deal!”

She still looks entertained by your actions and probably your unusually high spirits, once again making you think she’s going to say something, but she never does, leaving you to think that she somehow knows something that you don’t. Oh well. She’ll probably tell you at some point.

And then you remember something.

“Oh!” You turn back towards her again, “do you know where Chara is?”

She opens her mouth to answer, but glances behind you and closes it again. You look at her in confusion, beginning to turn around to see what she’s looking at. What’s this about—?

“I’m right here _._ ”

You _swear_ this time that you actually almost have a heartattack.

Jumping what feels like halfway across the room, you turn around to see the person in question standing directly in front of you, looking down at you with a curious expression. You huff at her.

“How can you always just do that!” you try to ask, but it comes out more like a frustrated statement.

“Do what?” she says in mock oblivion, but you know that she’s _very_ aware of how well she can literally scare the _hell_ out of you, and you _know_ that she absolutely _loves_ it. You glare at her.

“You’re cute when you’re scared,” she says, pointedly not answering your question and smirks at you, “your eyes go wide and you get this look, it’s a lot like... a scared kitten.”

You hear Toriel’s muffled laughing behind the two of you and glance back at her, seeing her cover her mouth as she tries to do some sort of paperwork.

Chara follows your gaze as well, but quickly brings it back to you. “Oh, I am most certainly not joking,” she clarifies, reaching out and smoothing out your hair before leaning closer so only you can hear her, “you are absolutely adorable, dear.”

You cover your face, but don’t make any effort to get away from her. You know you’re blushing at this point. “...’ _D-Dear’_?”

“Oh? Do nicknames embarrass you?”

You slowly peek out of from your hands to look at her, but when you do, she’s no longer in front of you. Confused, you try to turn around, but step right into something warm. And suddenly, there’s a pair of arms around your waist.

“But the comedian calls you all sorts of things,” she complains, pulling you into her embrace, and then tilting your head up to look at her, “aren’t I allowed too?”

You stare at her, not saying anything, too surprised by the sudden contact and her change in demeanor to answer her. You’re too flustered. Too embarrassed.

Did she really just call you _“dear”? And_ cute?

“Hm,” she brings your face a bit closer to hers, her eyes boring into yours, and strokes your face with her thumb. What _happened_ to her? “You’re rather cute when you’re embarrassed, too.”

“...Ch-Chara!” is all you manage to say when you finally get your voice back, feeling like you could die from embarrassment. You thought _you_ were the affectionate one in your relationship...!

She laughs. Not in a mocking way, but… it’s happy laughter. And, despite how embarrassed you are, you find that you like the sound of it. “You know, I’m being serious here. If Sans gets to do it, I don’t see why I can’t.”

You feel like you’re accepting your death, but you assure her, “th-that’s not it! Y-You—you _can_ , but it’s just—”

“Good. I mean, even if you said no I would’ve done it anyway, but I’m glad I have your approval.” She brings your head down, placing it against her chest and basically hugging you in the position you’re in. “Don’t you feel closer to me now?”

“I feel _embarrassed_ ,” you mutter, but sigh and close your eyes, leaning into the embrace, “but, if it makes you happy, then it makes me happy too.”

She pulls back, and it feels all too soon, but now _she_ looks slightly flustered, staring at you with a surprised look and pink dusted cheeks. She quickly pulls you back into the hug, though, holding you slightly tighter than before.

“Frisk,” she sighs, “you’re far too sweet for your own good.”

You smile, reaching around and placing your hands on her back. You wish you could stay like this forever, and you contemplate doing so for a while, but then remember why you were looking for her in the first place.

“By the way,” she begins before you can get the chance to explain yourself, “are you going somewhere? You look dressed up.”

“Oh yeah,” you murmur to yourself, reluctantly pulling back, but ask, “do I look bad?” before answering her original question. You _know_ it’s not _actually_ a date, but you still spent a while picking out your clothes.

She shakes her head. “No, you look good.” A pause. And then, “You normally do.”

 _When did she become so flirty_ — _?!_

You stammer, trying to accept her compliment, “Th-That’s not true…! But, ah... thank you.” You whisper the last part, staring hard at the ground and avoiding her stare. Is she just teasing you again? Either way, the flattery distracts you, and it takes you a second to come back to reality and get to the point. “I… wanted to ask you about something.”

She suddenly becomes more serious, sensing your tone, and stands back a little. “Did something happen?”

“Well, not really, um...” you ponder on how to phrase this, “I’m going to meet Sans.”

As soon as you say that, her mood visibly drops, and you feel guilty.

“I was wondering,” you explain slowly, not really wanting to ask anymore but you know should instead of just talking to Sans about this without her consent, “if I could tell him about you.”

“You mean,” she crosses her arms, “about us?”

“Yeah,” you look down. “Our… connection. And stuff. Um, is that okay? Of course, I won’t give him all the details, but I think maybe if he knew, then he’d be more friendly with you.”

“I think he may actually dislike me more, but that’s fine. I don’t particularly care.” Her tone is cold, but she doesn’t sound mad. Well, not at you at least. “It’s alright. Go ahead.”

“O-Okay…” you feel bad, she was unusually happy before you mentioned that... “I’m sorry. I just wanted to make that was okay with you before I said anything—”

“Frisk, it’s fine,” she convinces you, “I appreciate you asking first.”

You’re a little surprised by that, but you’re glad that she’s not angry with you.

“Are the two of you going to be alone?”

...And here comes the questioning.

“Um… yeah.”

“So, it’s a date?”

You feel the blush coming back. “N-No!”

Despite your wishes that it is, you don’t want it to be labeled that when it’s not officially one. You…

You have no clue how Sans actually feels about you.

But, if even Chara thinks it’s a date, maybe it isn’t that crazy that you were feeling that way, right...?

“Well,” she continues, walking over to the cupboard and grabbing an empty cup, beginning to make herself coffee, “date or not, don’t let him do anything you’re uncomfortable with. If he does, just call me, and I’ll be over to kick his ass into next week.”

“Language, Chara,” Toriel says, but you can tell she doesn’t really care that much by the passive way she says it, as if she feels similarly herself. And, as you stand here, with Toriel reprimanding Chara about her language and Chara threatening to hurt a guy if does anything to you while the two of you are out alone, you realize it feels a lot like you guys are really a family. Even if you’re missing key roles that are present in normal families, and you’re all not even the same species, it’s like it doesn’t matter. That’s not what makes people a family. You still love each other. You’re _still_ a family.

_You finally have a family._

Your heart swells, and you quickly walk over to Chara and hug her again.

She glances at you, patting your head in a very older sister way, and it feels like the two of you have been living together forever, like… you’ve been adopted sisters forever.

“Stay safe, alright?”

And she says it in this sweet, caring tone that makes you melt, but before you can answer her, there’s a knock at the door.

“I will,” you murmur, squeezing your arms around her and then taking off for the door. It means so much to you that she’s worried. That she cares. “Not a date though!”  
You hear her laugh from the other room, and mom telling you goodbye, which is then followed by a uncharastically good natured, “see you tonight, love!”

You smile to yourself, taking a second before opening the door. You guess she really is serious about this whole pet names thing. You don’t have a problem with it, you really love it, especially coming from her, but you still think the embarrassment that comes with it may kill you.

You reach for the doorknob.

Deep breath.

There isn’t anything serious between the two of you. Even if you wish there was.

Sans is one of your best friends. You’ve hung out with him alone before. Many times, actually. This is no different.

Okay. Right. You can do this.

You open the door.

###  _Chapter Thirteen: Blind Promises_

Sans stands before you, hands in his hoodie pockets, looking as calm and collected as ever. You almost feel overdressed, but then you notice that, under his signature jacket, he’s wearing a buttoned down dress shirt, and it comforts and excites you that you’re not the only one to dress up for this, even if it’s not technically an actual official “date” between the two of you.

“mornin’,” he says, briefly glancing you up and down, “ready to go?”

You nod, feeling self conscious as you step out and close the door, locking it behind you. And even though you think he went out of his way to wear dressier-than-normal clothes as well, you feel obligated to comment on it.

“Um… I hope I’m not overdressed or anything.”

He glances back at you. “nah,” you pocket your keys and he directs his gaze back in front of the two of you, “you look cute.”

Your heart immediately picks up its pace at that. Cute. You look cute. He thinks you look cute.

This is _basically_ a date, right?

“Th-Thank you,” you choke out so quietly that you’re not sure he even hears, almost tripping over your own feet and hoping he doesn’t see, fast walking until you’re back at his side. “S-So, um… where are we going?”

“well, i was gonna take ya to grillby’s, but he isn’t fully set up here yet,” he explains, and you feel the tiniest bit of disappointment. It feels like forever since you were in that restaurant, and you doubt that many other places could beat it. “so, instead, i thought that we’d go see muffet’s café.”

Nevermind. You were wrong.

“Really?” you ask, trying to contain your excitement, you didn’t even know Muffet had moved up to the surface, much less fully set up a café. “How long will it take to get there?”

He stops walking, turning to face you. “heh, kid, you forget about my shortcuts already?”

You blink, and then quickly shake your head. You may have a fairly short term memory and tend to forget things easily (of course, disregarding your amnesia—that’s on a whole other level) but you’re not _that_ bad.

...Maybe you _sort of_ are, but you _do_ remember his “shortcuts”. It’s kinda hard to forget that someone has teleportation abilities.

“‘Shortcuts’,” you repeat, making air quotes with your fingers at him, “I remember.”

He then nods, holding his hands out to you. Somewhat reluctantly you take them, and in a second you’re in front of Muffet’s café.

You feel briefly sick to your stomach.

He doesn’t instantly let go of you, his face growing into a look of concern as he tries to steady you with his hands. “you okay there sweetheart?”

You feel yourself smile despite your sudden feelings of sickness, holding onto his arms and leaning forward, trying to even your weight on your legs out. “Yeah,” you answer, taking a few deep breaths, “just give me a second. You… you have to warn me before you do that.”

“sorry,” he says, helping to steady you out with his arms, “my bad. thought you may have been used to it. shoulda known better.”

You’re not sure exactly what would give him the idea that you had grown accustomed to it. You didn’t do it _that_ many times with him in the Underground, and the last time you did, you’re pretty sure you got fairly sick in front of him.

You’re… not sure how to describe the feeling of teleportation, or why it messes you up so much. It just feels like…

Well, to put it quite literally, it feels like _forcefully being ripped through space and time._ You’re not exactly sure you can come up with any accurate comparisons that aren’t completely outlandish and ridiculous. All you really know about it for sure is that it makes you nauseated and lightheaded. The reasons why are a mystery to you. You could probably come up with some fairly plausible theories, or ask Sans, but you think you’re in for enough large topics in your discussion with him today. You’ll ask him some other day. You’re sure with how prevalent of a thing it is that you won’t forget.

“It’s fine,” you say after taking a little more time to collect yourself, straightening up your posture and letting go of him. “I’m okay now.”

He hums in response, continuing to glance at you as the two of you head in, as if you’re going to get dizzy again and fall, but the glances get less frequent as the two of you walk in and get seated.

Muffet’s café seems to not have completely established itself yet, with barely anyone except the two of you inside. There are a few monsters here and there, and even one human couple seated in the corner, but that’s it. Muffet herself doesn’t even seem to be here. You ask the cashier about her, but only get brief “she’s busy right now” in reply. Whatever that means. You guess you’re not particularly surprised, though; there hasn’t been that much time for them to form a more reputable reputation and gain more of a crowd, and maybe you shouldn’t have expected her to be here. She probably has some sort of a second job or something; you know how she is with money. You’re sure as time goes on this place will gain a lot more popularity than it currently has.

Maybe it’s emptiness is good, to an extent, though. For now, at least.

Less chances of being recognized.

You fidget in your seat slightly, the apprehension for your current conversation finally beginning to set it. And, not just that but, once again…

This feels _so much_ like a date.

“i’m glad i’m finally getting the chance to talk to you,” he begins, searching your face. You are too. You’ve been waiting for something like this for so long. “i’ve... been meaning ta ask you something for a while now.”

You take a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare yourself for whatever it is that he’s going to ask. If he’s been wanting to mention it to you for a while, you’re assuming it’s fairly important.

But… you can handle it. That’s what you came here today for _—_ to get answers. To get the truth. Even if you don’t like it. You can deal with it.

Slowly, you nod. “Okay. Ask away.”

“so… ah…” he seems at a loss for words, looking deep in thought. You wish you could help him with it, but you’re not exactly sure of what he’s talking about. “well… okay. a lot of things about this, you… probably don’t understand. you may never understand. which is fine, because i don’t get all of it either, but…"

_Something you don’t understand and neither does he…_

Is...

Is he talking about what you think he is?

You find yourself wishing you had ordered something to drink. Your throat suddenly feels very dry.

“remember the first time we met?”

You nod, and maybe a bit too quickly, because Sans’s voice suddenly drops to a much lower octave.

“ _that wasn’t the first time, was it?_ ”

You freeze.

You were right. That _is_ it.

_He knows._

"you and i, we had met before that, kiddo,” he says, his voice slightly going back to normal, “and countless times at that.”

You stare at him at disbelief, your mouth opening slightly and your eyes widening. Monsters that you encountered after resetting had normally at least some sense of deja vu or memories of things that happened before you RESET, but Sans always seemed like he knew more than everyone else. Almost like he was aware of your abilities, and that time was constantly being reset and manipulated. You definitely had you suspicions; you suspected that he somehow remembered some things, too, but you never knew for sure, and suspecting something and having it confirmed are two completely different things…

“sometimes, i’d be in the middle of a somethin’, and the day would start all over. there were days i lived over and over again for weeks on end.”

Your blood runs cold.

You…

You didn’t know that anyone other than you and Chara were consciously aware or remembered RESETs.

You had _no idea_ it would mess with anyone’s life at all, so you never thought about it.

“and, well. it has to do with you. right?”

_Yes. It does. It’s all you. It’s all your fault._

You try to say that, you try to answer, but you don’t. You can’t. Your body won’t let you. The words won’t come.

You’re still caught up on the fact that _he knows. He knows_ about the RESETs and the LOADs and he _remembered_ and remembe _rs_ and _every single time_ you died or had to start over from a different time _he was aware._ Any progress he made on anything, any interactions and conversations he had, _everything he did_ was _completely erased_ when you used your abilities to turn back time and he _could never get them back_ and _it was all because of you._

“kid. frisk. look,” he continues when you don’t answer, _using your name again_ and you _love the way it sounds from him_ but it’s in an anxious tone and he’s speaking so hurriedly as if he was afraid of your answer and decided he didn’t want to hear it and it _hurts_ , “we’ve really never made it this far. so… how much longer is it going to last?”

Wait, what?

“i mean, don’t get me wrong, you finally got a happy ending and everyone’s happy. it's nice. it's nice to see the sun and feel the heat on my bones. it's nice to see how happy everyone really is. it's nice to know that they all have a chance at a better life. i like the surface. we all do. but...” he trails off, and you can see sweat beading on his skull, and there’s so much fear and desperation and sadness and hopelessness in his voice and it’s _breaking your heart_. “making me wait the way that you are… it’s very cruel, don’t you think?”

_Sans…_

You feel unshed tears gathering in your eyes and your stomach twisting into knots.  You didn’t know. You’re sorry. You’re _so sorry—_

“i’m just so _tired._ ” you know, you are too, and you’re sorry, _you’re sorry_ , “i want to move on. i want to enjoy this. but i don't want to get attached, to get used to this, it’s _pointless_ if everything is just going to—”

“It won’t.”

You cut him off quickly, unable to listen to him anymore, and abruptly stand up. “That won’t happen, because…” you lean forward, cautiously placing your hand on the back of his skull and waiting to see if he’ll push you away, but continue when he doesn’t, “I won’t RESET anymore. Not ever again.”

Slowly, you pull him towards you, and press your lips to his forehead.

“I promise.”

You whisper the words against his skull, cradling it in your hands and slowly moving your fingers across the smooth surface. “Yes, the RESETs have to do with me,” you murmur, resting your chin against his head and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “They’re all my fault. And, I… I didn’t know that you knew too. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, _so sorry._ I know that just an apology isn’t going to cut it, it won’t bring back everything that you lost, and I wish there was something I could do to bring it all back but there’s nothing and I’m sorry, Sans, _I’m so sorry_ and I won’t _ever_ put you through that again.”

You feel him shift under you, followed by the presence of hands on your back and an audible sigh. You think, you hope, that it’s from relief. You just feel so…

Sorry _._

Guilty.

Sad.

Hateful.

You hate yourself.

You hate yourself for not knowing, for not picking up on his awareness—now that you know for sure, you realize how _obvious_ it was that you weren’t the only one to know, to remember, how could you be so _stupid_ ?—for not having the courage to ask sooner, for not being more careful with how you used your abilities. You hate yourself for all the pain and suffering you caused Sans. _You hate yourself._

You stay in your position for a while, closing your eyes and letting it slightly ease the feeling of guilt that spread throughout your entire body and makes you feel sick. You think of Sans, all alone, thinking everything he did was _pointless_ because it would all be reset and he’d _lose everything_ and there was _nothing he could do about it_ , and the feeling gets worse and you tighten your grip.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, and it’s all you can say, all you can do for him at the moment. You feel tempted to just apologize over and over again, because you are _that_ sorry. Even a thousand sorries couldn’t express how sorry you really are.

He probably hates you.

That thought strikes fear into you—no, no, no, _no_ , he can’t come to hate you, he can’t cut you out of his life, you just got him back, you care for him too much, you want him to like you, you _need_ him to, you need him to want to be with you _you need him_ —but, at the same time, _you get it_ . You hate yourself too. He _should_ hate you for what you’ve done. For all the trouble that you’ve caused him. Just hating you would be merciful. He should hurt you and kill you and tear away your life and your progress because that’s what you did to him. You deserve it and you know it and a part of you wants to sit back and let him because _that’s what you deserve._

But then, he does something that completely surprises you.

“sorry? you’re sorry?” his voice is incredulous, disbelieving. You feel his head move, and can feel his gaze on you, but you don’t look back at him, unable to meet his gaze, afraid of what he may say. “ _honey_ , don’t be. there’s no reason.”

Now, you do pull back, meeting his eyes and trying to ignore how _good_ it feels to be called “honey” by him. He sounds happy, but, why? Not that you’re not relieved and happy that he’s happy, but… why isn’t he mad? Shouldn’t he hate you? Or at the very least, be angry with you for your careless actions?

Slowly, you sit back down, expecting him to explain what he’s talking about. “everything that’s happened, it’s… all in the past now. there’s no changing it.” He’s studying you intensely, and the happiness in his tone falters for a moment. You feel your stomach drop. “and, tell ya what. i know you didn’t know what you were doing. i honestly think that you actually don’t remember some of it. i forgive ya. i want to put all of it behind us. so, if you’re not gonna RESET anymore, then there’s no point in feelin’ sorry about it. any of it.”

“...Of course, I…” you pause, sort of at a loss of what to say. You’re almost speechless. He forgives you? How? Why? You feel bad, like he shouldn’t, but you’re also so _relieved,_ and that makes you feel even worse. You know you made this whole promise off of a whim and it’s not going to be as easy as just saying you won’t do it—it’s a habit, and even though you tried to prevent it, you became reliant on it—but you can see the hope in his eyes and practically feel it radiating from him and he’s never this openly joyful and you can’t bring yourself to do anything but go along and agree with him. “I will definitely keep my promise. I… promise.”

His smile grows a little at that, and all you can think about is how _happy_ he looks.

“frisk,” he breathes, suddenly grabbing your hands into his own, “thank you. thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You _love_ the way he says your name.

He doesn’t normally use it, so this feels like a new thing to you, and because of that it also feels oddly personal and intimate and like you’ve reached a new level of closeness with him and you love it and want him to say it more.

“Anything for you, Sans,” you whisper, partially hoping he won’t hear you and thread your fingers through his. You almost tell him not to thank you, that this shouldn’t be some sort of act of graciousness and he _shouldn’t_ feel thankful, because it’s just what you should do—it’s the right thing to do. But he _does_ hear you, and you can tell by the way his already euphoric expression lights up even more, and he squeezes your hands slightly, and for a second, you think he may just kiss you.

The idea excites you, but you quickly shut it down. It doesn’t happen, of course, and a part of you is slightly disappointed, but the logical part of your mind knew it wouldn’t.

Although, now… it’s like the air between the two of you feels different. Like your relationship has shifted slightly, and you’ve just become closer. It seems more like a smaller difference, you can’t exactly tell what it is and why it changed, but it’s big enough for you notice.

And, even though it’s not something as big as a kiss like you were sort of hoping for, for now, it’s enough for you. For now, with your hands in his and the way he looks so _happy_ and it’s _all because of you,_ you…

“so, guess we’ve got quite a lot to talk about, huh?”

You swear you can see a future with him.

 

 

 

 

“So… just to get this straight,” you stare at the table, your head beginning to hurt as you try to comprehend what you’re hearing, “what you’re saying is that, right now, in some other place… you and I are having this conversation, but we’re two completely different people?”

“sorta,” he says, sitting back in his seat. You sigh, resisting the urge to bang your head against the table. This is too much.

In the past few minutes, Sans has begun to explain timelines to you, saying that it was necessary for him to tell you all that you need to know for you to understand. He’s very knowledgeable on the subject, and, science in general, it seems. It makes you wonder about what his job was underground, and his earlier education. He just… speaks in a way that really reminds you of the way teachers talk while teaching a lesson. Could he have been like... a scientist or something? That would make sense, considering his friendship with Alphys. That’s definitely something you’re going to have to ask him about. Just another thing to add to the list, you suppose.

“okay,” he begins, and you summon all of your attention and try to listen as closely as possible. “all possible histories and futures are real. for every action and decision you’ve made in this universe, you made an entirely different one in another. when you fell, you created a collection of timelines—around a hundred or even a thousand—and when you reset, you purge the current timeline and create a new one at an earlier time.” He stops for a moment, his eyelights flickering around your face as if silently asking you if you follow, and you hum quietly, urging him to go on, even though you’re pretty sure you have no clue what the hell he’s talking about. “thus, there is an infinite amount of universes from that point, all with completely different variables, and they’re all continuing right at this moment as we speak. in most of them, the barrier was never broken, but considering the amount, i guess there is a fairly high chance that in some timeline the two of us are having this conversation, but…”

“The setting and contents of it are different,” you try, “and we probably are, too.”

Sans slowly nods. You try to wrap your head around the concept, but the more you attempt to understand it, the more questions you find yourself thinking of and the more it seems completely insane and incomprehensible.

And, you’re pretty sure you died when you fell, anyway. Chara was probably the only reason you came back to life. Could that have been one of the reasons there were so many other timelines created from your fall?

“But...” you trail off, furrowing your eyebrows in contemplation of how to word your question, “...I—me, this Frisk right now… I haven’t been in every single timeline? It’s not _me_ , it’s a different version of me that I don’t actually share experiences with?”

“you probably share some small happenings with the other versions of yourself,” he says, his tone calm and even throughout his whole explanation, “but, yes. the timelines independent from your own resets are the ones with versions of yourself that you yourself haven’t actually lived.”  
You’re starting to feel lightheaded. You knew there were other timelines to an extent because of the fact that you could RESET, but you didn’t know that there were so _many_ and that it was this complex.

Sans gives you a few seconds of silence, letting you digest the information he’s given you, which you appreciate, because you definitely need every single one of them. You vaguely recall hearing about multi-universe theories before. They were all extremely complicated and you never truly had a good grasp on them, and now you’re finding out that they’re all completely true.

You swear, having a boring life is _very_ underrated. You could live _quite well_ without finding out life-altering things _every single day._

It’s so, so _strange_ to think that right now there are other versions of you running around, doing the exact opposite of what you have done. Having different relationships with people. Talking about different things you’d never even think of. Just being _you_ , but at the same time, not you at all.

Does this mean that in one timeline, you had never fallen?

Now _that_ is a _unearthly_ thing to think about. Your life would be… _so different_ . You’d still be with your biological family. You’d still be taking cafeteria food and stashing it in a drawer at home so you wouldn’t starve. You’d still be wearing baggy clothes so no one could see how unhealthily skinny you were and your various collections of scars and wounds. You’d still be selling yourself for money _every day—_

Nevermind, _nevermind_. Bad thought. That Frisk…

Is probably dead.

 _Think about something else._ You’re getting off track anyway.

You think back to what Sans was saying earlier. You recall him saying something, like…

...How there were timelines you didn’t remember.

“Wait,” you start, leaning forward and accidentally hitting your hands on the table a lot harder than you intended, “you were talking about earlier how there were things I did that I didn’t remember. That I didn’t know what I was doing.”

You swallow, immediately noticing how he visibly seems more uncomfortable and nervous. Something isn’t right about this. There’s something else that he isn’t telling you.

“Sans,” you prod him desperately, “what did I _do_?”

He stays silent for a moment, and each second you grow more and more uneasy. You almost think he isn’t going to answer you. You _know_ whatever it is it’s something _bad._

“normally, when you reset, the world would just go back to normal. and it was fine, ‘cause no one remembered.” His voice becomes more hard and less calm but still even and very controlled. Carefully controlled. You don’t like where this is going. “but, sometimes, sweetheart, you’d come back, and it would be like everything was normal, but…”

The temperature in the room visibly drops, and his sockets go black.

“there was _n o b o d y  h o m e_.”

You reel back at that, and a part of you wants to get out of here, run away from all of this, _especially_ because this whole situation feels _way_ too similar to the one in Grillby’s in the underground, but…

You don’t move.

You force yourself to stay still. To take a deep breath. To gather your scattered determination and calm down and face all of this head on like you should. Like you _have to._

“Sans,” you say his name softly, and you notice that the light appears back in his eyes and you feel notably less cold and a lot more relieved. “Did I…

“Did I kill anyone?”

As soon as you ask that, his poker face breaks a little, uncertainty and a tiny bit of surprise breaking through. Despite steadily holding your eyes the whole time, he breaks the contact for a second and glances at the floor before looking you in the face again.

And then _he nods._

“Oh my god,” you murmur, pressing your hand firmly against your mouth. You feel like you’re going to be sick. You can’t believe this, how do you not _remember this_ , how could you _do_ something like that? _Why_? Why would you?

“kid,” he stands up, glancing around before leaning down to you, “i think it’s time we get you home. we can continue talking there.”

But you barely hear him.

You killed people. You ended lives. You _stole_ life from other people. You robbed them of it. In that timeline, everyone who you killed would never be able to see the surface. You _took_ that from them. Even if you’ve RESET, it doesn’t matter, you’ve still killed. Nothing can change that. At one point, you still did it. There’s still dust on your hands. There’s still blood. You killed, _you murdered—_

_It’s not like this would be the first time something like this has happened—_

Arms are around yours.

You’re not in the café anymore.

You look around to try to see where you are, but as soon as you do, you realize you’re in front of your house and there’s the crushing and sickening sensation of just being forcibly and unnaturally dragged through space and time.

You fall into Sans, unable to help it, and turn your head away from him, coughing violently to the point where you’re almost gagging.

You feel terrible.

You feel sick _._

“I thought you s-said—” you cough again, gasping for air so you can speak, “th-that you’d warn me before you did that.”

He sighs, and you think you hear him mutter an apology but you’re not sure. You can’t hear much over your hacking.

He holds you until your coughing fit is over with and you’re able to stand on your own again. But even then, you don’t let go. You cling onto him and bury your face in his hoodie and close your eyes and let yourself be grounded by him.

“Who,” you whisper when you have back control of your voice, “who was it? Who did I... _kill_?”

The word feels gross on your tongue, and you can barely manage to say it at all. You feel his gaze on you, but you don’t look up at him. You can’t bring yourself to.

“a lot of monsters,” he answers in a reluctant manner, and quickly hurries on, “but, look, frisk, you’ve got to take this stuff one thing at a time. i shouldn’t have even told you that, i didn’t know that you’d freak out so bad—”

“You.”

He stops. “what?”

You shake your head, sniffling and trying to stop yourself from crying. You have to keep it together. You have to be an adult. You have to be able to handle this. “You,” you repeat, managing to bring your head up to look at him, “Did I kill you?”

He looks away, not answering, and you pretty much know that that’s a yes.

You killed him. You killed Sans. Your best friend. Practically your older brother. Your guardian. One of the highlights of your life. The person who can make you laugh no matter what the situation is. Someone who’s protected you and looked out for you and cared for you the most anyone ever has. One of the people you’ve cared for the most in your life in turn.

You had _killed him._

“I’m sorry,” you apologize feverishly, struggling to get the words out through your irregular breaths, “I’m _so sorry, I’m_ —”

“everything’s fine, sweetheart,” he assures you, lifting his hands from your arms to your shoulders, and holding you close to him, “it’s all in different timelines. no one really remembers any of it, i’d know, and i already said i forgive you, so there’s no need to get so worked up about it. alright? you’re innocent. down to the last bone.”

You manage to cheer up a little at that, pushing your face back into his hoodie, but still try to argue with him. “But still, that’s—”

“do you really think that you’d be where you are now if you were a murderer this time around?”

You feel yourself shiver, and not because you’re cold. Your hands tighten on the grip you have on his clothing, but you don’t pull away. You do suppose he has a point. Even in this timeline, where you haven’t killed, he still continued to threaten you and make sure you wouldn’t. You don’t doubt he would’ve killed you on the spot if you had started murdering again.

You just need time. You have to process all of this. RESETs and the repercussions that came with them that you knew about were already so much on their own, and this is so much _more_ on top of that.

 _God,_ you can’t believe you _killed your friends, you hurt people_ again—

You begin to start hyperventilating again and even feel tears threatening to spill, your grip on your resolve slipping. He sighs, his hands moving down from your shoulders to your waist and holding you tight.

“...here’s what’s gonna happen,” he begins in a soft and comforting voice, “you are gonna calm yourself down, i’m gonna walk you up _—_ ”

Your grip on his jacket tightens, and you know what you’re asking of him is selfish but at this point, you’re so scared and mentally unstable and he’s the only thing making sense right now and holding you together and _you don’t care_ about anything else. As long as he doesn’t leave you. “Please don’t go.”

He can’t leave. You’re just now able to spend time with him and make up for what you lost and you’re not sure how everything with your living situation is going to play out; for all you know, you could be gone again next week on another ambassador-related trip. Or, there’s a good chance that you’re going to be a lot busier now that you’re better and healed and as you’re really starting to work as an ambassador. At some point, Sans is probably going to have to get a job, too, and depending on what it is, then you’ll probably see him less and less…

You hadn’t even thought of that.

What if he gets a job that takes him out of the country? What if with both of your schedules it becomes impossible to see each other regularly? You guess if you absolutely had to, you could live with only seeing him occasionally, even though it’d hurt and you’d really, _really miss him,_ but there’s still a possibility that you two may be separated, or that he could find a better place to live somewhere else, or _someone_ else better than you and then you’d _never see him again,_ and—

“ _—we_ are gonna go inside,” he continues, stressing the word “we” and you practically collapse out of relief, forgetting about your previous thoughts, “i’m not gonna go anywhere, and i’m going to stay with you for as long as you need. okay?”

You instantly agree, overflowing with all the affection you feel for him. “Yes, okay. Thank you, Sans. Thank you so much.”

And then, after taking a few deep breaths and stabilizing your shaky limbs, you step back, wrapping your arms around yourself and nodding firmly.

“Okay,” you say again, turning towards your house, “let’s go.”

He reaches out, affectionately patting your head with a smile. “lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

You sigh, backing away from the window. You guess you should’ve known that Frisk would end up taking Sans back here.

You really should’ve followed them. You guess you’re still not used to having your own body and not being able to just listen to whoever is talking with Frisk whenever you want to.

Still, you make a mental note to do it next time.

From what you’re feeling now and Frisk’s body language when she was outside talking to him just now, it seems she’s pretty upset by whatever had happened while they were out.

The comedian really just loves messing with things that _aren’t his._

You head for the door, reaching for your knife. You did warn him. If he continues to go against your warning…

You’re going to make sure that _he_ has a really _bad time._


	14. Chasing Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Every-Everything is so messed up,” she whispers, her voice sounding watery. She instantly wraps her arms around you and rests her hands against your shoulder blades. “I’m… I’m such a bad person, Chara.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I tried reallyyyy hard to edit this but? it's like 3 AM for me and?? I'm not sure if I did the best job but? I swear I'll fix everything as soon as I get the chance?? lmfao please have mercy
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in frisk's pov.

Surprisingly, when you get inside, the house is quiet.

“I’m home,” you call, holding the door open for Sans and shutting it behind him. You wait for a moment, but still get no response other than silence. Glancing behind you, you shrug it off and head towards the stairs, assuming Toriel and Chara are both up there. They’ll probably notice the two of you’s presence at some point.

“Welcome back.”

Almost tripping, you turn around. Chara almost looks amused by your reaction for a moment, but quickly wipes the mirth off her face just as soon as you notice it, turning towards Sans with a stony expression.

“You brought a visitor,” she states, taking a few steps closer, looking down at Sans from her impressive height and scrutinizing him. She crosses her arms. “Hello, _comedian_.”

She says it with so much venom that you actually flinch, not used to her using that tone much anymore. Irritation flickers on Sans’s face, and he begins to respond, but stops when you all hear footsteps from the other room.

Toriel emerges, her face brightening when she sees you. “Hello, my child. Welcome back.” You can’t help but smile a little at that. You’ve started to notice that Toriel and Chara unknowingly echo each other and share the same mannerisms, and honestly you find it really cute. She comes closer, noticing Sans standing slightly behind you. “Oh, hello Sans. I am glad to see you as well.” She pauses, glancing at you, “I did not know you would be coming home with Frisk.”

You laugh nervously at that, passing a hand through your hair. “S-Sorry, mom. I, um—”

“it was a last minute decision,” Sans finishes for you, completely unbothered, “and, nice to see you too, tori.”

“It is fine,” she agrees easily, not seeming mad, and you inwardly sigh. You could’ve told her that yourself, you were going to, but you guess you are thankful for Sans covering for you. You’ll have to keep that in mind that he does that for… future reference. “Actually, you came just in time for dinner.”

You blink at that, glancing around the room for a clock. Is it really that late? You suppose if you think about it, it does make sense to a certain extent, considering you probably left somewhere around early afternoon and the two of you talked for a few hours, but you didn’t realize that much time had passed.

“ah, that’s alright. i’ll pass.” He states, and then quickly adds, “just not hungry. as much as i love your cooking, tori, i don’t think i _have_ _the stomach for it._ ”

Toriel laughs at that, and you allow yourself a small smile. Sans hasn’t really made puns the whole evening with you, probably considering how serious it was. It’s nice to see him back to his normal self.

As you think about it though, you aren’t really hungry, either. You don’t think you’ve eaten an actual meal today, but after what you talked about, you’ve lost your appetite completely. Is that also why Sans doesn’t want anything? Or is he really just not hungry?

Either way, you begin to feel guilty again. You’ve felt a lot of guilt lately.

“Actually,” you start carefully, playing with your sleeves, “I don’t really want anything either, if that’s okay.”

Toriel looks at you worriedly. “Yes, I suppose that it is, but…” she reaches out, raising her hand and you wince, trying to duck away instinctively, but relax when you realize she’s just feeling your forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”

No. Not at all. You just found out that there are literally millions of parallel universes, some of which are connected to yours and or created by you, and in some of them you _killed_ your friends and family, and one of your closest friends remembers _all_ of it.

“I’m fine,” you lie straight through your teeth and force a reassuring smile, “just a little tired, I think.”

She still looks concerned, but easily lets it go, and you feel terrible. “Well, get some rest, child. Do come down if you happen to change your mind, alright?”

You nod, mentally apologizing to her as you turn to the stairs. “Thanks, mom,” you say, and then glance to Chara, who’s been completely quiet the whole conversation, but is giving you a skeptical look.

You almost forgot that you can never get away with lying to her.

“I’ll talk to you later,” you promise her quietly, to which she nods to, but still seems unsatisfied. You look at her for a moment, silently apologizing just like you did to Toriel before turning around and leading Sans up to your room.

###  _Chapter Fourteen: Chasing Stars_

“Thanks for coming over,” you say, opening the door for him, “especially all things considered.”

“‘s no problem,” he replies, and you shut the door after he steps in, debating on whether or not to lock it. You don’t need to—god, of course you don’t, that makes it sound weird. It’s not like the two of you will be _doing things_ or that’s what you expect or anything, you just… think it may be better having your privacy ensured. There’s a few scenarios you can think of where Toriel and or Chara walks in and sees or hears something they don’t want to and everything goes downhill from there. That’s all. That’s all it is. You’re only worried about something like that happening. “you sure you’re actually feeling okay, sweetheart?”

Every time he calls you that, you feel your heart leap, and you try to hold onto the feeling. You almost say “yes” immediately out of habit, but catch yourself and sigh, locking the door anyway despite your little debate with yourself before walking over to the edge of the bed and sitting on it, slowly shaking your head.

“No,” you make yourself admit, “not… not really.”

He sits next to you, staying quiet, probably expecting you to say something else, but what is there to say? He knows everything, and it’s sort of self explanatory. Really, you just… feel really bad for pushing your feelings on him. Especially when you’re not the victim here.

You’re playing the victim.

“I’m sorry,” is all you say, all that you really can, “I wish I could fix things, I wish I never did them in the first place, I’m—” he begins to cut you off but you shake your head, giving one more firm but pathetic “I’m sorry”.

It now occurs to you that what you saw in your nightmare could be real.

It could’ve _actually happened._

And then you can’t hold yourself together anymore, burying your face in your hands and beginning to cry.

“I’m s-sorry,” you repeat desperately, feeling yourself start to become hysterical, “I-I know I’m not the victim, and I’m not trying to be and I know sorry isn’t going to cut it and— _God Sans I’m just so sorry_ , I’ll be better, I’ll make it up to you, I’ll do anything, I’ll find some way to fix it, _I’m so, so sorry—”_

You’re against something warm. Arms are around you.

Sans is holding you.

He rubs circles on your back, running his hand through your hair and letting you cry on him. You’re thankful. And you try to thank him, but when you open your mouth, all that comes out is more sobs.

Maybe you’re overreacting—you aren’t the victim here, you were the one who killed, you have no right to cry—but your emotions just suddenly feel so…

_Screwed up._

Everything about this—what happened, it feels so _wrong,_ it _is_ wrong, and you can feel something _so wrong_ with it, there’s so many things about it that you don’t know and you’re sure they’re _screwed up beyond belief_ and you’re feeling too much right now and it’s just so much _too much_ to handle.

“...hey,” Sans murmurs into your hair, and you can feel his breath against your scalp, “it wasn’t you. i know it wasn’t. you weren’t… you. i know. and i’m the only one that needs to ‘cause no one else remembers. everything is fine.”

You take a shaky deep breath, hugging him tight and processing his words. You take another. And then, you slowly begin to get your breathing under control.

“if it makes you feel any better, you…” he stops, making you think he isn’t going to finish that sentence, but he continues, “you aren’t the only one who did things you regret.”

That makes you curious, and you almost ask, but his tone of voice and your current mental state convince you not to. After everything you’ve learned, you don’t think it would be wise to talk about that right now. You can just ask him about it later. After all, you still have a lot more things to discuss with him.

You pull back with a sigh.

“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” you trail off, not sure what to say. You can tell he knows what you’re trying to say, though, so you don’t try. “I-I’m… I’m okay.”

He looks disbelieving. And sympathetic. Which makes you feel even more guilty than before. You don’t deserve sympathy. _Especially_ not from him. “I have to be,” you allow, “I… I have to make things right, I…”

“but you don’t,” he insists, and he’s definitely the only thing keeping you grounded right now, “you’ve already done all that you can. you promised that you wouldn’t reset. that’s good enough. that’s all you need to do. just keep that promise. focus on that. alright?”

You nod, sniffling and pulling down your sleeves to use them to wipe the remaining tears from your face. You really haven’t been doing a good job at holding yourself together lately.

“I’ll keep it,” you promise him, looking down, “I will definitely keep it.”

You will.

You’ll try your very best. You won’t break it willingly. You can change yourself. You can change your ways and your habits. You’ve done it before. You can do this. You can keep promises, you…

You can be a good person.

“I’m sorry.”

“ _quit_ apologizing,” for a second, you think you’ve actually made him mad and open your mouth to apologize but realize that would just make it worse and close it, “i swear, i’m gonna have to make an apology jar and start fining ya every time you apologize.”

You find yourself slightly cheered up by that. It’s an amusing idea, you having to give him money every time you said sorry, because you know you’d be broke and probably homeless in no time.

Maybe you _should_ try to work on apologizing less. It... probably annoys people.

You frown at that. You never thought about it that way. You just always feel the need to say sorry for yourself. You always have the constant urge to just be _forgiven._ For _everything._

But, if he doesn’t like it, then you’ll work on it. You’ll just… start promising action instead of saying sorry. That’s a lot better, isn’t it?

“There’s still things I didn’t get to tell you,” you say, sitting back and pulling your legs onto the bed so you can hug your knees. “And… there’s also a lot of questions I didn’t get to ask.”

“i know,” he says, and you can tell that he _does_ know by how drained and tired he sounds and you feel _guilt_ settling in your stomach for probably the sixth time today. “but, like i said, you gotta take this stuff one step at a time, sweetheart. we’ve got plenty of time.”

You rest your chin on your knees. “Yeah, I know, I guess I’m just… scared that this is impermanent.”

“yeah,” he concurs, his tone far too understanding for your liking, “you and me both, honey.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pulling him tighter against you and holding him close. Your soul aches. You didn’t know how badly the RESETs affected him, you _hope_ —you pray, _please_ —that you didn’t mean to kill anyone, that it _wasn’t you_ and it was some other Frisk from another timeline. Even though it’s not in the this timeline, none of it is anymore, _Sans_ _still remembers._ This could be a fresh new start, and maybe it is to an extent, but he’ll always carry everything that has happened with him, he…

Maybe he always has.

That makes it hurt even more. This whole time, he’s been _the only one_ to remember.

“You’ve… you’ve been alone, haven’t you?” you murmur into your legs, quiet, but loud enough so he can hear you. “This whole time, you had to deal with the RESETs on your own. You’ve had to carry the burden of _knowing_ on your shoulders, right?”

You feel tears in your eyes again at the thought of that, knowing that _you’re_ the root cause of his suffering, he could’ve been completely fine and so much better _without you._ You turn your head to look at him, and then sit up straight and turn your body towards him.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” you tell him confidently. “You won’t be. And I won’t RESET anymore. I won’t have a reason to. I just… won’t die. That shouldn’t be too hard.” You feel even more _guilt, guilt, guilt, so much guilt_ knowing that you may not even be able to sustain that. “O-...Okay? No more RESETs. I swear. You… You can kill me if I RESET, if that’s what it takes. Just, please. I don’t want you to have to suffer anymore. Especially not on your own. I’m not much, but… I’m here too. I don’t remember everything, but I can at least carry some of the burden with you so it’s not so crushing. I... don’t want you to have to be alone anymore.”

You see that spark of _joy_ on his face again, and feel yourself let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. It’s nice to see him so happy. He deserves to be. You like it. You wish you could see that look on his face all the time. You wish _you_ were the cause of that look on his face all the time.

“jeez, sweetheart. i’m not gonna kill ya just ‘cause you reset.” He says it calmly, but he still sounds so happy, so thankful. “how about this,” he places his hand on yours, your own so much smaller in comparison. You give it a spare glance but then immediately direct your gaze back up at him. “i’ll do my absolute best to protect ya, and you try your absolute best not to reset anymore. alright?”

You nod instantly, barely even thinking about it before agreeing. “It’s so much more than I deserve, I don’t deserve your protection or your forgiveness, I’m…” you exhale forcefully, looking away miserably. “Thank you, Sans. I’m so sorry. You… you won’t be alone anymore.”

You turn your hand around and slip your fingers through his, squeezing gently, to which he promptly returns affectionately. He looks… troubled, but you think he normally does. Troubled, tired, distrusting (or is it simply that he’s scared to trust?), afraid. But content. Above all, he seems content. At least, right now, with you promising to stick by his side and holding his hand tightly. Dare you say he even still has traces of that bright happiness on his face that you love to see so much.

It makes you _so happy_ , too, to know that you can make him feel that way. To know that, at least, even after everything you’ve done, you can still make him happy.

You squeeze once more to try to let him know. It’s probably stupid of you, but for some reason, you feel that he understands, and, to some extent, shares the sentiment, especially when he squeezes back.

Unable to help yourself, you lean over and rest your head on his shoulder, your hand still tightly locked his. You wait for him to move away from you, to tell you that’s too far or too much touching for today, but he doesn’t. He stays in place and maybe you’re imagining it, but…

You swear you feel him lean slightly against you back.

You yawn suddenly, covering your mouth, and you realize how tired you actually are, having had such a weird sleep schedule the past few days. Even yesterday when everything was back to normal, you didn’t want to go to sleep for fear of having nightmares again and then you were up late thinking about the contents of them, and…

Oh, right.

Maybe you really should mention those to Sans.

He’s looking at you strangely, and you briefly (and worriedly) wonder if his magic allows him to read thoughts. It’s a stupid thing to be thinking about, and you’re not even sure exactly why you thought of it, but you almost ask, although, thankfully he says something before you get the chance to.

“huh…” he tilts his head, looking down at you curiously, and you feel your face heating up at the attention, “never seen a human do that in person before.”

“R-Really?” you pull your head up to look at him confusedly, wondering if that’s even possible. “The whole time through the Underground—even the other me’s—never did it? Not even once?”

He shrugs rather carelessly. “maybe they did, but i was never paying attention.” And then, he adds, “‘s actually pretty cute.”

He says it like he’s listing observations from a set of data or something. Your face burns. You turn away.

“I haven’t gotten good sleep the past few days,” you admit after getting yourself together from the sudden attention, “I um… have been having nightmares.” It feels so childish to say, but you’re thankful to finally say it and get it off your chest. “Actually, that’s why my eyes were red the morning you came to the hotel. I had been… crying because of them.”

You feel him searching your face, but don’t look up. You’ve honestly always sucked with keeping eye contact with people. Especially when you’re nervous. “that bad, huh?”

You nod, feeling reluctant to elaborate even though you know you should and you were the one who brought it up in the first place. You even find yourself hoping he won’t ask, which is a stupid hope, and it’s crushed the next moment when he speaks again.

“you wanna talk about it?”

You should be brave and mature, and even though you _don’t_ want to do it you should do it anyway, but you feel like you’re still teetering on the edge of mental stability, and if you do force yourself to remember and relive everything you saw you might just fall off. You’ve already broken down a little in front of him. You don’t want to have a full fledged break down.

“N—” you swallow, feeling sick at the thought of what you had seen possibly being real, “no.”

The only thing that kept you from freaking out was that they were just _dreams._ Albeit bad ones, nightmares, but they weren’t _real_. They were creations of your mind and whatever was in them couldn’t hurt you or affect you in real life. You’re still not completely sure that the contents of them had actually happened, but if you find out that they did, you think you may just lose it.

They had just felt so _real._

You _hate_ it. You hate the possibility of them being real. You hate everything about it.

It’s probably all the more reason to tell Sans, after all, he’s the timeline expert, not you (you swear he has to be a scientist or something), and it could be important information. But, when you think of explaining it all to him, the itchy feeling of dust on your hands and the way that you felt so delighted watching the life drain out of the people you care about and choking on your own blood as you were killed _over_ _and_ _over and over again_ you feel—quite literally—sick to your stomach.

You’ll tell him at some point, though. When you feel like you’re not on the brink of going crazy.

Maybe Sans is right; you really do need to throw in the towel for today. You’re not going to be able to hear anything new or tell him anything new without breaking down again.

“lay down.”

You jolt slightly, directing your eyes back up at him. “Wait, what?”

His demeanor is thoughtful. “lay down,” he repeats, “just wanna try somethin’.”

“Um. Sure?” You push yourself further onto the bed and then roll over on your back beside him, looking at him curiously for his next move. He shifts so he’s facing you leaning down slightly close to your face.

“close your eyes.”

You feel yourself tense and your body go hot, but still oblige all the same. You’re not sure what he’s going to do. You trust him, you don’t think it’s something bad but…

_Is he going to kiss you?_

You get the urge to cover your face, but manage to resist. Why do you even keep thinking about that? Do you… really want that? Is that how you really think about him? Do you—

Your thoughts are cut off when a warm tingling sensation spreads throughout your body, instantly calming all your nerves. It feels… nice. So nice, that you completely forget everything for a moment, arching into the feeling and letting a soft noise pass from your lips.

And then you come to your senses and gasp, opening your eyes, and jerking back. You weren’t expecting him to do… _something_ like that.

Something.

What was that something?

_It almost felt like..._

You look down, noticing that his fingers are glowing a faint blue, and as you look a little longer you realize his whole form is softly illuminated with it. It startles you slightly, reminding you far too much of what he looks like when he’s about to attack, but the glow is much calmer and dimmer, and his attack eye is normal. You sigh, realizing just how much on edge you are and moving back to your original position.

Sans wouldn’t hurt you.

Would he?

“What is that?” you ask quietly, reaching out towards him cautiously. “It’s… is that magic?”

“yeah,” he replies, letting you inspect his hand and play around with the strange blue light, seeming amused as you do so. “just relax. it won’t hurt ya.”

Still intrigued by it, you nod and close your eyes again. You feel the smooth surface of his fingertips ghost across your face and against your hair, and then the sensation is back, slowly easing its way through your body. It’s… strange. It feels pleasurable, almost like he’s massaging you, but at the same time extremely calming. You feel weightless, like…

_You’re floating._

You can barely even feel Sans’s hand on your head or his magic or the mattress below you anymore. You vaguely understand what he was doing, now; he was trying to soothe you to sleep.

It’s working.

You’re still somewhat afraid of dreaming again, but it’s all just static. It’s hard to focus on anything now.

You can see blue light through your closed eyelids.

You reach out—or try to—for Sans, trying to grasp him and hold onto him. You don’t want to wake up alone, and if you do happen to dream, you don’t want to go through that alone. If he’s here, he could wake you up. If he’s with you, you aren’t afraid anymore.

“Stay…” you think you murmur, just barely holding onto consciousness. You want to stay awake, to be with him, to feel his magic more and be able to enjoy it, but you’re slowly slipping.

“i will,” you’re pretty sure you hear him reply. And then, you feel something on your head, and that’s the last thing you consciously note before you’re gone.

 

* * *

 

The house has gone quiet.

You aren’t sure if Sans has left or not; you’ve walked by Frisk’s room a couple of times, and even stood there for a while, but it’s completely silent. It sort of worries you, but you’re thinking maybe she’s just sleeping or something.

You walk downstairs to see the comedian’s back to you, one hand grasping the doorknob, and your mother in front of him, and feel slightly disappointed that he’s still here. Quickly but as quietly as you can, you stumble backwards behind the corner you were just about to round, flattening your back against it and peeking over your shoulder to glance at them as best you can from the corner of your eye. You don’t care as much about seeing them as you do hearing about what they’re talking about. Sans is the one currently saying something.

“the kid fell asleep in her room,” he’s telling her, and you guess that you were right, and you feel a bit more at ease, “i think she’s been havin’ trouble sleeping lately. wouldn’t be surprised if she woke up in the middle of the night scared or somethin’.”

You see mom nod once. “Do you know what it is that has been troubling her?”

The comedian looks down, letting go of the door and leaning against the banister of the staircase. He hesitates, barely, but you catch it. “she’s been having some pretty bad nightmares.”

Oh.

So it appears she told Sans about those as well.

You feel a small sense of pride and superiority knowing that she _told you first_ . You suppose that you were just the first to find out, but you still knew first and she talked about it with you first. _Not_ him.

You can tell the moment mom gets worried. “Really? That is… concerning. Might you know what they are about?”

“ah... no,” Comes the reply, “i was wondering the same thing, but she didn’t want to tell me. She seems pretty shaken up about it.”

And it also seems that he doesn’t know what they’re about, either. They must be… pretty bad, then. You’ll have to try to talk to Frisk about it later, before he does.

There’s a pause. And then he speaks again. “i guess that i could try to find out for you. that promise i made to you… i’m still keeping it, even though we’re on the surface now. it still applies, y’know?”

You feel anger rising in your stomach, and have to physically resist the urge to go over there and _hurt him_.

Is he _serious_?

That promise, the one he made to your mother that he used as some sort of excuse to fuck with Frisk and her feelings and as an excuse to _completely betray her_ at Grillby’s that one time. He never actually cared. He _still_ doesn’t, and this just proves it. He’s only spending time with her and making her happy and excited to see him and making her grow _oh so attached_ to him for what?

For a stupid, bullshit promise. That’s fucking all.

He’s completely leading her on.

 _God,_ and just when you thought he wasn’t enough of a dick.

“Thank you, Sans,” your mother is saying, and you slowly unclench your fists and try to calm yourself down, not wanting to do something stupid. “I really do appreciate it, and everything you have done for my child and I, but I do not think it is necessary anymore for you to continue with it. I do not want Frisk to get the wrong idea, as… she seems to care quite a lot about you.”

Sans actually seems _surprised._ Like this is new fucking news. Like it isn’t _so painstakingly obvious_ just how much she _adores_ him. “heh... really?”

“Yes, she most certainly does. She looks up to you as if you were her father. She _worships_ you, Sans.”

You almost roll your eyes. Even mom knows just how much she cares.

He rubs the back of his neck, once again looking down. Is he embarrassed right now? “frisk is… special. she’s a real good kid.”

You don’t like to hear him talking about her like that.

“She is,” you hear mom fondly agree, “I take it that you care about her a great deal, too, do you not?”

If you thought he was embarrassed before, he definitely is now. “well…” he seems reluctant—which, pisses you off again, because why is he so hesitant to say he cares? It’s not like mom is asking him to profess his undying love for Frisk or something. She’s just asking if he _cares,_ and he can’t even admit to that? What’s so wrong with caring about Frisk? There are so many people who love her to the moon and back, and she deserves all the love and care that she gets and so much more. She’s so _good._ Why is he being this way? Especially when Frisk so obviously likes him _so much_ _more_ than he deserves?—but, eventually agrees, “yes, i do, i… guess you could say that.”

“Then… rather than focus on your promise you made to me, just take care of her, will you not? Of course, do what is necessary for your job and to protect her, but become friends with her as well. Please do not break the bond that the two of you have. Every time that she sees you or talks about you, her face completely lights up. Have you seen the way that she looks at you? You make her so very happy, Sans. Please do not ever stop.”

It goes quiet.

Completely silent.

You’re almost afraid that you’ve been caught and slowly peek around the corner, but only find the two of them standing there in the exact same positions, except Sans is looking up towards the ceiling and the hand he has around the banister is wrapped around the railing tightly. Too tightly. You can even see that from where you’re standing. You’re sure that if he had skin, his knuckles would be white.

“of—of course, tori. i’ll definitely do that.” The grip loosens. He lets go and stands up, heading towards the door again. He looks… stiff, almost. If that’s even possible. “frisk... means a lot to me, too.”

It’s once again one of those times where you wish that you had killed the comedian when you had a chance.

“Thank you, Sans, I really do appreciate everything that you do.” Mom opens the door for him, grasping his shoulder warmly. “Please, come back any time. You are always welcome, and Frisk is always ecstatic to see you.”

“i’ll drop by soon,” he promises, stepping out the door. “see ya, tori. thanks for lettin’ me take care of your daughter”

“Please,” she says, and you can hear the smile in her voice, “do not thank me. She loves it. She really, really cares about you Sans.”

You think he says something in return, but you don’t hear it. And then, mom closes the door and locks it, and you quickly turn around the way you came before she sees you.

You _hated_ that.

There was something _weird_ there. Something that the comedian wasn’t telling your mom. It was suspicious. The way he was acting was suspicious. He was _definitely_ hiding something.

And…

You think you know what. And you definitely do _not_ like it _at all._

_This isn’t good._

You have to do something.

Before the comedian does.

You begin to walk back to your room, not sure if you regret staying and listening to their conversation. Would you have been better off if you simply did not see that interaction? Is this just going to be hanging over your head for a while, making you want to find out every detail even if you can’t do anything about it? Or is it good that you have at least some sort of idea of things that may come and may be able to prepare and possibly prevent them? Will you even be able to change anything?

You stop in front of Frisk’s room.

It’s still quiet. She’s probably still sleeping.

But…

You want to see her now.

Whenever something happens, you want to talk to her about it. Or, at least be with her. When you’re troubled, she puts you at ease, even if she doesn’t know that something’s bothering you; just her presence helps.

In the Underground, you would always be with each other, and nearly always know what was happening to the other at all times. Even if you couldn’t—or, wouldn’t—talk about what was going on, you were still there for each other. You weren’t…

So _separated._

Maybe it’s selfish of you to think like that. You would never want to go back to being incorporeal and stuck in her head for what you thought would be eternity, and it’s much easier to care for her and protect her in this way, but… You guess you’re just afraid that your tie was what was holding you together, and now that you’re mostly physically independent, you’ll grow apart somehow, especially with everything else going on, and…

You can’t lose her.

Against your better judgement and knowing that if you go in she’ll probably wake up and you shouldn’t bother her with your own issues even more so because of how many of her own she has and your worries are probably _stupid_ but you _still do worry_ because you just _care so much_ and you shouldn’t and you really wish you _didn’t_ but you’re _so attached_ and practically everything that even could possibly threaten your relationship with her _terrifies you_ and just _god you care about her so much—_

Despite all of that…

You open the door.

Well, you try at least.

Before you can get it open, the doorknob is yanked out of your hand. You take a few steps back, looking at it in shock before looking back up again only to feel even more surprised.

Frisk stands in front of you, her clothes and hair slightly messed up, her eyes wide, and her body slightly shaking. You notice how fast she’s breathing, too.

“Where’s Sans?” she asks immediately, peering behind you, and you feel a little unhappy that that’s the first thing she asks about, but then realize that he’s probably the reason why she’s so worked up.

“He just left,” you reply slowly, but that must’ve been the wrong answer, because it only seems to make her more worried.

“How long have I been asleep?”

Your first reaction is to glance around for a clock, but then it occurs to you that there isn’t one in this hallway, not to mention that you don’t know exactly what time she fell asleep. You can’t answer that for sure.

“I’m not exactly sure, but… it’s only around ten or so.”

You think that’s probably accurate. Last time you checked it was around 9:40, so that’s a safe guess.

She roughly passes her hand through her hair, so hard that you think she may have pulled some of it out, and crosses her arms firmly across her chest. The slight shaking has gotten worse. You frown.

“Hey…” you reach out to her slowly, trying not to scare her in the state she’s in right now. “What happened, love? Are you alright?”

She looks like she wants to say something, but stays quiet. You grab the hand still in her hair, gently untangling it and bringing it down to hold in your own, stroking her skin in soft circles with your thumb in an attempt to calm her down. She looks up at you, scaredly, almost, and then slowly shakes her head.

“Sans… told me about something,” she says finally in a small and shaky voice, “a few things, it’s… I don’t know how to handle it. I don’t think there’s much I can do, and I made a promise to him and I’m not sure if I can keep it but it was the only thing I _could_ do, and… oh _god_ Chara I messed up, I did something really bad but I can’t change it, and just…”

She looks about ready to cry and you quickly take her into your arms before you can second guess yourself. You’re not sure what she’s talking about, but you think you may have some guesses. And, whatever it is, it’s, unsurprisingly, _the_ _damn comedian’s_ fault _._

“Every-Everything is so messed up,” she whispers, her voice sounding watery. She instantly wraps her arms around you and rests her hands against your shoulder blades. “I’m… I’m such a _bad person_ , Chara.”

“Shh, shh, hey, that’s _not_ true,” you assure her quickly, not even knowing where to begin with that. How could Frisk even _think_ that? What _would_ make her think that? What the _fuck_ did the comedian tell her? When you think of Frisk, all you can think of how _good_ she is. In every single aspect of her being. All this time, you’ve always wondered how she’s done it, how she’s been _so good_ and continued to be _so good._ And…

How you’re _nothing like her_ in that aspect.

Saying that she isn’t good, even more so saying that she’s _bad_?

It’s simply _a completely untrue statement._

“You’re our savior, Frisk,” you remind her, still in disbelief that she could possibly think that she was _bad._ “You got hurt and killed so many times and you never once killed someone else. Hell, you’re best friends with the people who tried to _murder_ you. You’re _living_ with some of them. You trust them, even after everything they’ve done to you. You forgive them. You’ve done so, _so much,_ things that you didn’t even _have_ to do, _especially_ after what was done to you. You’re always there for everyone, giving yourself away to other people even if you get nothing out of it. You’ve saved _so many—_ more than you’ll ever know. You’re a hero, Frisk. How could someone like you _possibly_ be _bad_?”

Except, even though everything you said was true, you feel her start to shake harder.

“What if… I _did_ hurt people?” She asks it _so quietly,_ so _afraid,_ her hands grasping fists of your shirt. “Would I still be good… would you still think I was good… if I did?”

You look down at her, confused. You _know for a fact_ that Frisk would never hurt anyone intentionally. You remember yelling at her once to kill a monster that you were sure she wasn’t going to beat, that had killed her many, _many_ times in _very painful ways_ and even tried to rip the control away from her so you could do it yourself, but she _wouldn’t let you._ Her sheer amount of determination to not hurt anyone was so great, it... even prevented _you_ from taking control. You think maybe there’s a small chance that if she was pushed far enough—and by that, you mean _very far_ —that she may hurt someone, but that wouldn’t mean she wasn’t good. That would be self defense, and it would be justified.

But, that’s all hypothetical. She _didn’t_ hurt anyone in the Underground.

Maybe…

Is she talking about on the Surface?

Before she fell?

You remember the scars all over her body. How thin she was when she first fell. How thin she _still_ is. How little she eats, like she’s afraid she’s going to run out of food. How fast she _does_ eat when she’s given food, like you’re going to take it away from her. How wary she was of other people. How she used to not talk at all. How she flinches away when people raise their hands at her. How scared she gets when she thinks someone is getting cross with her. How little she knows about her own body. How her face lights up at the littlest of things, like no one had ever done or said good things to her before.

It’s all there.

There’s _so much_ evidence that she had been mistreated. She _had to_ have been. And to the extent of it, it seems like it was extreme. Like it was _really fucking bad._ And you’re almost afraid to know what happened to her, it seems so _fucked._

There’s a good chance that what she’s talking about could be related to her surface life.

Your heart aches.

You’re going to ask her. You’re going to ask her about her past and what happened. What pushed her to jump.

After all, kids don’t just climb Mount Ebott for no reason.

You’re _going to ask,_ you’re going to get names and places and _you are going to hunt whoever hurt her down_ and _make sure_ whatever pain Frisk felt, they will feel it _ten times worse._

You hear her whimper into your shoulder.

You’ll ask. You’ll get the information you need and you’ll make things right. But not today.

Not right now.

You know you’ve been holding this off, a few things off with Frisk, actually, but it’s okay. Frisk is fragile. If you make the wrong move or bring something on her too fast or push too many things on her at one time then you know that she could break. There’s a good chance she may. You don’t want to do that to her. You won’t. And you’re not going to let anyone else, either. For all you care, everything that you need—well, in this case, it’s going to have to be everything you _want_ to know—can wait for a hundred years. You’re probably about that old anyway. You can and you will be patient with her. She needs it. You’re going to take your time with her, and take all of this one step at a time.

You’re going to help Frisk. Just as the way that she helped you. You’ll forever be indebted to her, but you’re definitely going to pay her back as much as you can.

You realize you’ve gone quiet. You’ve probably scared her more. You rub her back to tell her that whatever she’s scared about, she doesn’t have to be.

And then, you speak.

“ _Of course_ I would,” you tell her, massaging small circles into her back, “even if you _did_ happen to hurt people, I _know_ you would’ve done it out of self defense. And even then, if it wasn’t; it doesn’t matter. _It doesn’t matter_. It’s in the past now, and I’m guessing it’s pretty far away. You said there wasn’t anything you could do to change it, right? Then that’s that. It happened and now you can’t change it. There’s no point in worrying yourself so sick about it. I was the same way, remember? And you told me the same thing. You’re good now, and that’s all that matters.”

Frisk will always be good. That’s just the kind of person she is. She has a good heart, she’s compassionate, empathetic, self-sacrificing, _loving_ , _merciful_ …

She’s a _good person._ Even if she wanted to try to change it, she couldn’t. That’s personality. That’s part of what makes her Frisk.

Frisk will always, _always_ be good.

“Besides, by now I’m sure you’ve made it up with all the lives that you’ve saved,” you say, momentarily ceasing your rubbing to hug her tightly. “You’re good, Frisk. No matter what you did in the past. You’re good down to your very soul. Nothing can change that.”

If anything…

_You’re the bad one here._

She hugs you tighter. Almost like she could sense that thought.

“Chara, I…” her voice is dry, and you almost think you heard it crack, “thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” you pull her back, smoothing out her hair and then stopping to just admire the beautiful girl in front of you. The beautiful, pure, merciful, wholesome, _good_ girl. Filled with trauma and pain and hurt. She doesn’t deserve any of it. “I owe my life to you.”

Before she can argue, you press your forehead against hers, holding her face in your hands and closing your eyes. How could someone so loving learn to hate and doubt herself so much? How could someone so full of light and hope and happiness be plagued with such intense darkness and sadness?

You want to drive it all out. You just want her to be able to be happy. To be able to be happy and not have to be haunted by the pain of her past.

“I’ll tell you everything,” she whispers, and you feel her breath on your lips, “just… tomorrow.”

That’s fine. That’s okay. You’re okay with that.

“Tomorrow,” you repeat to her, stroking her face with your hands. “That sounds good, love.”

_For now, just let me have this. Let me have you without any of the other variables. No pain, no suffering, not anything out of our control. No one else. Nothing else. Just us._

_Just you and I._

You breath the same air as her, holding her close to you. You know you still want to kiss her. The urge is still there, especially when right now when you’re _so close_ and it would be _so easy_ and it would feel _so good._ But, you don’t. You don’t want to ruin this moment. You can’t give her anymore than she can handle. Instead, you focus on the softness of her skin. How nice it feels to be so close to her. How good she smells. How intimate this is. How you like it so much. How, even this, even though it’s not a lot, brings you happiness and makes you feel safe.

You’re not sure how long you stand there. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you have her. You have her and there’s _hope._ You’ll help her fix things. You’ll work everything out for yourself and her. You’ll help her make things right, and things will be okay.

And, maybe one day, you’ll have her, without all of the other complications. Just Frisk. Longterm.

Permanently.


	15. Shadow of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Secrets…” you repeat the word bitterly, crossing your arms around your stomach, “why do we all have so many secrets?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gUESS WHO'S BACK AND WITH A STRAIGHT SPINE  
> mmkayyy so since i haven't really explained this yet (idk how i forgot? lmao what am i) but when i got surgery on the 8th last month, it was because i had severe scoliosis that wouldN't stop progressing. for those who don't know, scoliosis is when your spine is fucked up and curved. basically, i had two metal rods screwed onto both sides of my spine but i mean,,, you do what you gotta do for a straight spine i guess  
> so, yeah. i'm straight now =) physically, i mean.  
> anywAy, i meant to get this out earlier, and i probably could have, but then i got off my narcotics (i was taking hydrocodone and it's not even that strong but??? holy shiiiiitttt it got me fucked up) and i started going through withdrawal and then looking back on this chapter-which, i mostly wrote when i was still on the Good Drugs-i realized how many changes i needed to make. like, this was supposed to be a mostly angst chapter but it ended up being fairly fluffy because i needed something to make me feel better lol. so, if it feels unnatural or something... that's why. i edited as best as possible, but idk, i'm still not back to my normal self yet. i'll look over it again when i get more of my sanity back.  
> and speaking of editing... while i was recovering and writing this, i did some well-needed editing on a lot of this fic. since i was high off my ass for that time period it probably wasn't the bEst, but if you want to check out the changes (in some cases, i wrote in sections, but they're small) def go ahead.  
> but. thank you to everyone who wrote my nice comments while i was out!! it really made my day and i'm convinced it helped me recover better. i love you guys sm <3  
> ((Also?? we hit 100K??? i just can't even i'm so happy?? and there's still so much i want to do with this story?? aah this is crazy to me))
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in chara's pov.

“...You’re joking, right.”

You meant it as a question, but you say it so flatly that it ends up being a statement. You just cannot  _ believe  _ what you are hearing right now.

“Joking?” Frisk repeats, tilting her head slightly in confusion. “I wish I was. I wouldn’t joke about something like this.”

“Yes, I—I know you wouldn’t, just…” you bury your face in your hands, sighing aggravatedly. “This  _ has _ to be a joke. He has to be joking, it has to be untrue, this cannot be…  _ a thing. _ ” You rub your hands into your face, bringing them down from your eyes and pressing them into your skin. “ _ God _ . What a  _ mess _ .”

_ And just when you thought the two of you had enough to deal with… _

In the last few minutes, Frisk has relayed what Sans told her to you. Mostly, she’s gone on about all this timeline shit, and how there are other timelines that none of you remember—well, except Sans. Which, totally isn’t suspicious at  _ all _ , you might add—where Frisk killed everyone in the Underground. Except, Frisk wasn’t actually Frisk, but she also was Frisk at the same time. Which, doesn’t make any sense at all either, but none of it made sense in the first place. You died and came back and your brother is currently a soulless flower, which, both do not make sense as well, but they happened and they’re real, and at this point, you think it’s just better to roll with things, even if they literally make no sense. After everything that’s happened, you’re convinced anything is possible.

“A-Are you mad at me?” Frisk asks quickly, breaking you out of your contemplation and looking up at you fearfully. She looks so…  _ shameful. _ Like it’s her fault. Like it’s all her fault. “I’m—I’m sorry, I know this is bad—it’s  _ so bad, _ b-but I can fix it, I  _ can,  _ I’ll—”

“Hey, hey,” you interrupt her quickly, reaching for her hair and stroking it. You’ve noticed when she gets like this—frantically apologizing, blaming everything on herself, sometimes even borderline hysteric—doing that seems to calm her down. “It’s alright, love, I’m not mad. It  _ isn’t  _ your fault. I know it isn’t. None of it is. None of it’s your fault. You don’t have to fix anything. Alright?” You continue stroking her hair, waiting for a response before you continue. She nods. “I know things are messy, and you want to fix them—I don’t blame you, a part of me wishes there was a way I could fix all of this too—but, look, there’s not much we can do with this. All that’s happened in these timelines have been in the past, and you were not truly you, right? Who knows how long ago these timelines occurred. It could’ve been  _ decades _ ago, for all we know. And they cannot be  _ that  _ recent considering how long ago it was that you fell. You know now, but it’s best to just put it all behind us. You can’t remember it, anyway. None of it can affect us now.”

Frisk suddenly goes  _ very quiet _ and completely stills. You cease your petting, pulling back and studying her bewilderedly. 

There is no way that those other timelines could affect you two now. How could they? You can’t be wrong. Right?

“...Chara, I…” she finally speaks after fifteen painful seconds of complete silence, looking away from you and at the floor. Her face looks paler than normal. “That’s just it. These other timelines, where I didn’t save everyone, I wasn’t  _ me _ , I think that… I’ve seen them.”

You drop your hand. It lands in your lap with a quiet thud.

“Do you remember back at the hotel, when I woke up crying because I had a bad dream?” She asks slowly, and of course you remember that, how _couldn’t_ you? You’ve still been wondering about what that was all about and if she’s okay now. It’s sort of hard to forget your best friend waking you up in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder and sobbing hysterically. “I… don’t think it was just a dream. I think it was a memory. Or, memori _es,_ I guess.” You begin to put together what she’s saying, and suddenly you get why she’s so worked up about this. “From... the other timelines.”

If you thought this whole thing was a mess before, it’s definitely a absolute disaster now.

“It… it was really bad,” she brings her hands together, beginning to nervously play with her fingers. “There was _so much_ _blood_ and _dust,_ it was… _everywhere._ I could even _taste it._ ”

“...Fuck.”

You sigh in frustration, harshly pushing your hair back and out of your face. You knew that this was bad—it’s a mess, that’s all you were thinking when Frisk was explaining everything to you; all of this is an  _ utter mess,  _ it’s all  _ so messed up _ —but you initially thought that it wasn’t  _ that _ big of an issue, since neither of you actually remember (couldn’t that mean that all of it may not even be real at all? Could Sans be lying? You honestly wouldn’t put it past him) and it had to be long ago, so it couldn’t affect Frisk now. But, if she’s having nightmares about these past timelines, about blood and dust and  _ killing  _ and she’s  _ remembering  _ and it’s affecting her daily life, then… 

You were wrong. 

And, not only that, but this is something you can’t control. You can’t prevent her from having nightmares. You can’t change what happened. You can’t even change what  _ you  _ did or make up for it, how would you even  _ begin _ trying to fix  _ this _ ? Is this even something that  _ is  _ fixable?

“Have you dreamt about it more since that night?” you ask, trying to get some idea of how severe this is. Or, could turn out to be. She reclines into her seat and wraps her arms around herself, almost appearing cold.

“Yes,” she answers, and you try not feel disappointed, knowing you’d take it out on her and  _ it’s not her fault.  _ “...Last night, a little, actually.”

You shouldn’t have left her alone last night.

You get the idea to suggest sleeping with her from now on, so if she does start having a nightmare and you notice you can wake her up, or at least be there for her when she does ultimately wake up so she won’t be all alone and you can comfort her. You think you’ve actually been getting fairly good at that lately. But even if you aren’t the best, she shouldn’t have to be alone after witnessing whatever the hell it is that happened in those other timelines. Whatever it is that you know is bad—bad being an understatement. You almost think that it would work out nicely; you could both get better sleep with each other, her having the comfort of knowing you’re there and you simply being at ease with the fact that she’s right beside you and she’s safe. 

But, you know better. 

You know it wouldn’t be that simple. It wouldn’t be that innocent. 

Although you  _ do  _ want to keep her safe, and you would sleep  _ a lot  _ easier with her with you and knowing that you can protect her, you  _ know _ you would be having  _ other thoughts _ at the same time. Other thoughts and urges that are most definitely  _ not innocent _ . And, if you slept together every night, then you’re afraid that, one day, you’re going to give into those thoughts and urges. After all, you  _ do  _ have self-control, but there’s only so much of it. You know that you don’t have that much when it comes to most things, and you’re  _ not _ going to test your self-control when it comes to Frisk. 

It…

Was a nice thought, though. 

_ Almost _ sweet and innocent. 

Hah. As if someone like you could ever manage to be sweet and innocent at any point in your lifetime.

...

You…

Really aren’t sure how to deal with this.

“...I haven’t told Sans yet,” she says after a few beats of silence. “Maybe… maybe I should. He knows a lot more about this than I do.”

Or:

_ There’s nothing that you can do. _

On one hand, you know that you should probably leave this to someone who knows what they’re talking about—and, if Sans is the one who remembers timelines and told Frisk everything about them, not to mention finding out that she caused them in the first place, then you definitely think that he knows enough to find some sort of solution for this, or why Frisk is remembering in the first place. But, on the other hand, you don’t trust Sans one bit, (obviously) but especially not with something like this. This is serious. 

Sans doesn’t know how to be serious. 

And, with how lazy he is, you doubt he’d come up with anything in a timely manner. 

You feel bitter with annoyance that you can do  _ so little  _ that Frisk is being forced to go to  _ the comedian _ . This shouldn’t be how it is. He isn’t going to handle things well, he’s  _ immature _ and  _ inconsiderate _ and _ he’s going to hurt her more, _ but… 

He’s the only option, isn’t he? He’s the one that has all the information, that remembers everything. He’s the only one who  _ can _ do something and possibly fix this. But, fuck, he’s just  _ not  _ the person for something like this.

There just has to be something  _ you _ can do, right? You  _ can’t _ leave this to the comedian. You just don’t  _ know… _

“...I’ll help,” you blurt, breaking the hard atmosphere and reaching for Frisk’s shaking hands that are still wrapped tightly around herself. “I… I don’t know how much I’m going to be able to do, but there’s got to be  _ something _ . And whatever it is, I’ll do it. We’re going to fix this, okay?”

Although, if these memories from other timelines are already getting to Frisk, something bad has already happened, hasn’t it?

And you don’t know if you  _ can _ fix this, you’re basically lying right now, but Frisk looks so  _ scared _ and she’s blaming herself and she’s  _ not like that _ —why can’t she see that? She’s so good and pure and merciful and innocent and she  _ doesn’t deserve _ to be affected by all of this.

“I’ll go with you,” you continue, almost hastily, trying to think of things that you can do for her so she’ll stop looking so  _ pained _ , “I’ll go with you to talk to Sans. I’ll be right there with you. You won’t be alone. We  _ are _ going to figure something out, and why all this is happening. Alright? None of it is your fault. You didn’t do any of those things. Even if they’re from other timelines, they’re just dreams. They’re not real. Not in this timeline. It’s not your fault.”

And you know your attempt at comforting her probably was more just you rambling in a desperate attempt to get it to work and it probably didn’t make that much of a difference and  _ god _ why can’t you be better at taking care of Frisk, she’s  _ so important, so precious _ you  _ need _ to take care of her.

“...Okay,” she says, squeezing your hands in her own, “okay. Everything… everything is going to be okay. It’s… all going to be fine.”

You can tell she’s unsure of what she’s saying, and that she’s more saying it to convince herself rather than stating it to you as fact, but that’s fine. Maybe it would help if you heard that out loud, too. 

You nod in agreement, even if you think the both of you may be lying to yourselves and downplaying how bad this all is, but  _ whatever. _ It’s for the sake of both of your sanity, and that’s something you’re going to need to get through all of this.

“Yes,” you manage a smile, reaching up and placing a strand of hair behind her ear. You can tell she still feels unsure about this. “We’ll take care of it. Anything that happens, I’ll be there to face it with you.” You lean forward, moving your hand that’s in her hair to the back of her neck and gently pulling her to you. “Did you really think that I’d let you deal with all of this by yourself? You’re not alone, remember? I’m always here. And I want to help. I’ll always be your partner.” You search her eyes, watching the distress dissipate and get replaced by something warmer. It warms you, too. “I’ll always be by your side.”

She searches your eyes as well, as if looking for the same warm spark that you saw in hers, and by the way the corners of her lips tug upwards you know that she finds it and feels it.

“Chara…”

She stops shaking. You can tell she wants to forget about all of this. You do too. It… 

None of this matters to you.

You have Frisk and she has you and you have  _ this  _ (whatever it is that you have) you’re going to make her okay and  _ none of it matters _ . Only Frisk and you matter. That’s all.

“I…” her breaths are shallow, and within the softness in her eyes you can see nervousness and uncertainty, but there’s… determination, too. Determination and care and that adoration that you love. “You… I really… I think I… I…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence. You want to know what she’s trying to say, especially because she’s having so much trouble getting it out, but you don’t have time to feel any disappointment or speculate about what it could be or ask her because she abruptly grabs your shoulders and  _ ever so slightly  _ pulls you closer and even though it’s a small action, all of your rational thoughts dissipate, and you stand up from your chair and lean over the table,  _ yanking _ her face to yours by the back of her neck. And now…

You’re left staring at each other. 

Once again,

_ Dangerously close. _

Your hands move from her neck into her hair. Her hands are light on your shoulders but at the same time firmly hold you in place. Your eyes locked on each other. Your breath on each other’s faces. 

It’s warm. 

Frisk lightly tugs on your shirt.

You stop thinking. 

You thread your fingers through the silk of her hair, combing through it and to her cheek so you can cup it in your palm. You use it to move her position, tilting her her head slightly, angling it so that you have easier access. And then her eyes begin to flutter shut, and she breathes one last short and soft sigh against your lips before you pull her towards you and—

“My children? Are you down here?”

Frisk immediately jumps back, her eyes flying open and her hands hastily retreating from your shoulders and then shoved against her chest, a small (and cute) noise of surprise and possibly fear escaping her mouth, completely snapped out of whatever trance she was just in a few seconds ago. You back away as well, but in a lot calmer of a manner, not as startled as she was, slowly righting yourself and sitting back in your seat, turning towards the doorway from which you heard your mother’s voice calling out to the two of you from.

You were…

_ So close… _

You watch as she enters the kitchen, her fur ruffled and unkempt, and you can tell she just woke up. She first looks at you and then at Frisk, and then back to you again. 

“Am I… intruding?” she asks, a hint of suspicion to her tone, and you don’t really blame her. The both of you probably look pretty startled and nervous, not to mention the fact that you’re both up a lot earlier than you usually are—which, admittedly, was in fact to make sure mom wouldn’t hear you two—and, you wouldn’t be surprised if she had partially seen the two of you quickly backing away from each other. 

“N-No! You’re not. It was… it was nothing,” Frisk clarifies quickly, shifting in her seat into a more natural position and smoothing down her hair that you must’ve slightly ruffled when you slid your hand through it. “We… were doing nothing.”

Of course, Frisk’s flusteredness and the pretty blush tinting her cheeks gives it away that something  _ did _ happen between you two, but you find yourself not caring. If she’s acting like this—nervously playing with her fingers, avoiding both you and mom’s gaze but periodically briefly glancing up at you, trying to hide behind the fringe of her hair that you just noticed has gotten quite long, does she plan to grow it out?—then she must’ve  _ enjoyed it too. _

And, even if the two of you did happen to… to  _ kiss  _ (that’s undeniably what that whole thing was, right? You were about to kiss Frisk  _ finally _ and Frisk was about to kiss you and just  _ god _ you wish woke up just a few minutes earlier and then maybe you would’ve been able to do it—but you still don’t love her) and mom walked it and saw you two and you got caught… 

It would’ve been worth it.

Especially for Frisk’s reaction. 

If she’s acting like this, almost being caught doing something intimate with you but  _ not quite _ and she’s already so  _ flustered  _ and  _ embarrassed _ then what would it be like if you two  _ had _ been doing something and mom walked in? How would she react then? How much more flustered could she get? How would she react if you were in front of her friends, in front of the  _ comedian _ , and you  _ slid your hand up her thigh _ and— 

_ No, control _ yourself—what the  _ fuck _ are you even thinking?  _ Why _ are you thinking of these things? You need to  _ stop—  _

But  _ god  _ you just want to see that pretty blush on her face and those white teeth digging into her lower lip to try and conceal those cute sounds she makes when you touch her so no one else would hear and how she would whimper and hide if you started playing with her in public—

_ NO, Chara,  _ **_stop—_ **

“We had… a moment,” you say before your thoughts can escalate any further. And, you know that mom would definitely start asking questions if you just left it at Frisk’s flustered “it was nothing”. “Did we wake you, mother?”

You change the subject before she has the chance to comment further, and you’re pretty sure she knows what you’re doing—after all, mom is not dumb; she’s probably one of the most intuitive people you know. Not that you’re  _ trying _ to deceive her or the like, but you’d rather not be questioned about your relationship with Frisk and confuse yourself even more than you are now—but, she lets go of anything else she wanted to say and goes along with you.

"Oh, no, I just happened to wake up and I thought I heard the two of you down here,” she explains, turning around and getting a cup from the pantry. “You two are up early today.”

“You are too,” you counter, not really feeling like making up some lie to justify yourselves. Mom sighs at this, setting the cup back down and staring down at it. You break your poker face for the first time since she came down, watching her in confusion. Are you and Frisk not the only ones up at this time for an important reason?

“I was going to wait to mention this to you two, but I suppose there would be no point.” 

Mom walks back to the table, pulling out the seat at the end between you and Frisk and sits down. You and Frisk exchange an uneasy glance. It’s never good when someone has to sit down to answer a question. 

“Well, there are two things that I would like to mention, but I am not really sure where to start. Let’s see…” she pauses to think, drumming her claws(? You don’t really like to call them that, since it seems so threatening and mom is not a threatening or violent person in the least—well,  _ most of the time _ —but you’re not sure what else to call them) on the wood of the table. “To be blunt, that job I was trying to get at the nearby mixed school down the street...” 

Oh no…

They couldn’t have rejected her, could they have?

“...Well, I got it.”

Relief instantly floods your system, followed by happiness and pride. You and Frisk both brighten up, the tense and nervous air breaking.

“Mother, that’s great!” you beam at her, taking her paws into your own. “You’ll finally be able to do what you’ve always wanted to do.”

“It really is great,” Frisk agrees, beaming at mom warmly. “You deserve it. You really do. You’re going to make a great teacher!”

Mom seems a little caught off guard by you and Frisk’s praise, hesitating and looking between the two of you with a surprised expression, but a smile quickly forms on her face, except… she goes quiet, and looks down at the table, and her smile doesn’t look as much happy as it does strained. You slowly retract your hands, placing them onto the table and studying your mother with concern.

“Mom… what’s wrong?” you ask, trying to think of why her getting this job that she wanted so badly could possibly be a bad thing, “this  _ is _ what you want, right? Are you not happy?”

“Yes, yes, of course I am happy,” she says, and you can tell she means it, she’s not lying, which confuses you all the more. “It  _ is _ what I want. I am elated to have gotten the job. It is just…” She sighs, obviously troubled, but continues on. “I have to work very late hours there. I am going to be at the school quite a lot, and I will not get home until late. Even on the weekends I will be there. I believe that I may be able to work something out so I am not there for such a long period of time, but I am just worried. I do not want to leave the two of you alone for so long. I want to be here to take care of you, I—”

“Mother,” Frisk cuts her off gently before you get the chance, and you both turn to look at her. You’ve heard Frisk call Toriel “mom” but you don’t think you’ve ever heard her call her mother. “We will be  _ fine. _ I’m almost an adult now. And, Chara… she pretty much  _ is  _ an adult. I promise you that will we be okay. We want you to be able to do this job and be happy.”

There’s this tone that she uses, it really makes her sound…

_ Like she  _ is _ almost an adult. _

And that’s not that far off, is it? You honestly can’t believe it— _ fathom _ it, even—the idea of Frisk growing up, it’s just…

So strange to think about. 

It feels like she’ll be a kid forever. At least, young forever. Which, she probably always will at heart, she has a childlike spirit, but she’ll be an adult. She’ll get a job other than being an ambassador. She’ll go to college, at some point (you still have no idea what the two of you are going to do about school, but you’re not going to ask, you’re avoiding that shit as long as you can,  _ fuck _ that) and she’ll graduate and get a degree and she’ll probably move away and… 

_ She’ll get married. _

And have  _ kids. _

And  _ god _ are you proud of her for how far she’s come and you’re so happy she’s going to get this chance at life, but…

You aren’t sure about how you feel about the latter part of her adulthood.

You don’t want to be left behind.

You don’t like the idea of her having a spouse.

Of kissing that person, sharing the intimate moments with them that she should be sharing with  _ you _ , letting them see the side to her that she lets no one else see, telling them her secrets— 

_ Having sex with that person—  _

No. No. That isn’t going to happen.

Frisk is  _ yours. _

**_No one else can have her._ **

...It always comes back to this, doesn’t it?   


No matter what the topic is. 

It always goes back to Frisk.

…

You decide not to think about the future right now.

Frisk isn’t an adult just yet. She still has a way to go. You’re a lot more closer than she is. And she’s always going to be  _ yours _ no matter what happens. 

_ Nothing  _

will change that fact.

“Frisk is right,” you say, bringing yourself back to reality and attempting to distance yourself from your wandering thoughts, “we will be fine, mother. If this is what you want, if this is what will make you happy, then by all means, do it. Don’t worry about us. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and probably even better at taking care of Frisk. You know that.”

“And, besides,” Frisk continues off of your statement, “if it really worries you, or if Chara is busy or something, then there’s always Sans.”

You make a note to yourself to never be busy ‘or something’.

The thought of Sans filling in for mom’s place is laughable. He’s already proved himself to be a  _ terrible  _ guardian in the Underground. You’d be excited to see how much he’d fuck up now if you didn’t hate the idea of him taking care of Frisk. 

“You… you two are correct,” mom murmurs, although, her mood seems to have lifted. “You two do not need constant care. I just… worry, is all. It is hard for me to accept how old you both are getting. But, I am sure everything will work out.”

You and Frisk both nod. “It will,” you say, and Frisk smiles in agreement.

“It always does,” she finishes for you confidently. It amazes you how she can say that, how she can persist with such optimism with everything that’s happened. But, you guess that’s just how Frisk is. You really shouldn’t be surprised. Frisk as a whole just completely astonishes you. 

“And, secondly…” Mom begins, in a serious tone, and this time you have a feeling it may actually be something bad, “your… your father called this morning.”

“W-Wait, you mean—?”

“Yes. He was... wondering if he could come visit.”

Well. You guess all the timeline stuff will have to wait. 

Maybe today will be better than you thought it would be. 

###  _Chapter Fifteen: Shadow of the Day_

Asgore’s coming. He’s coming to see you. Your adoptive father is coming to see you after so long. 

You’re so excited.

The last time you saw him was in the hospital. You barely can remember it now, you’re pretty sure you were fairly out of it on whatever drugs you were on and that’s mostly why it’s so fuzzy, so you don’t really count that. You’ve been wanting to see him again ever since you got out, but you’ve just been so busy and haven’t gotten the chance and you’re finally getting it now and he’s coming to see  _ you… _

You just hope Chara’s okay with all of this.

She seemed excited as well, agreeing when Toriel asked the two of you if you were okay with him coming over to the house today, especially after… well, everything that had happened in the Underground. But, thankfully, he and Chara had reunited beforehand—it must’ve been while you were in the hospital, probably unconscious; you think she may have made her rounds with everyone (or, mostly everyone; at least the people who knew her) then so she wouldn’t have to do it later, and probably because she was eager to see them again. You’re not aware of her exact activities in that time period. Maybe you’ll ask at some point. Just another thing to add to the list—which should make this visit a lot less emotionally taxing. 

You hope. You know it’ll probably be hard for her regardless, like it was with Toriel, but it got better. It’ll get better this time. And you’ll be with her. She’s helped you so much. You really want to be there for her, too.

Chara…

Despite everything that you have going on today, you’re still thinking about…

That  _ moment. _

You had b _ e _ en  _ so close _ to her. You had forgotten about everything, you couldn’t think straight, all you could focus on was her breath on you, the way your heart was pounding, her hands in your hair and on your face, how she was looking at you…

_ You still wanted to get closer. _

You still do.

You want to feel that warmth again. You want to understand it.

You want…

To  _ feel it fully.  _

There’s a knock at the door. 

You almost jump at being forcefully pulled out of your thoughts. You… sorta spaced out there. 

There’s a sudden pain in your legs. You look down to see how tightly you’re pressing them together, to the point of where they’ve even started shaking. You quickly relax them, pushing yourself out of the chair and beginning towards the door, but stopping before you reach it, standing beside Chara.

“Are you ready?” 

She looks over at you, and you think you see nervousness, but it’s gone before you can really tell, replaced by her usual neutral expression. Chara definitely has one of the best poker faces you know.

“Yes,” she says, looking back towards the direction of the front door. “I’ve already seen him, so… he already knows of my return.”

It seems she’s thinking the same thing you are. “Yeah, I know, but…” you reach for her hand, which, surprisingly, she doesn’t flinch or pull away from. It’s like she’s trusting you more and more everyday. “It may still be hard, you know? But, I’m here with you. We’re doing it together.”

She says nothing at first, simply looking at you, but then you feel her hold your hand back and a quiet laugh passes her lips. 

“Frisk,” she leans down a little so she’s more at your height, and there’s affection in her tone and in her stare and she looks like she wants to say something, but is interrupted by Toriel calling out to the two of you to tell you that Asgore is here.

Chara nods at you, and the two of you walk to the door together, hand in hand, but ultimately let go when Chara opens the door. 

“Dad!” you shout, unable to hold yourself back and jump on him, laughing happily when he catches you and picks you up in his large embrace. 

“Frisk,” he says in return, hugging you tightly, but you still catch a hint of surprise in his voice. You guess that’s normal. He hasn’t had nearly as much time to get used to you calling him “dad” as Toriel has with you calling her “mom”. You can tell it’s a pleasant surprise, though, and he’ll get used to it if you get your way of wanting to see him way more often. 

You bury your face in his furry shoulder, taking in his scent. He smells a lot different than Toriel, like flowers and earth and tea and spice, but they both share this strange sort of comfort in their scents. You’re not sure how to describe it. Maybe it’s the scent of magic?

You... have a weird interest in people’s scents. You’re not sure why. 

Your analysis of Asgore’s smell is short lived, though, because you end the hug quickly, remembering that Chara’s with you and stepping back, feeling a slight bit of shame. She’s the one who deserves the huge, big deal hug with him. She should’ve been able to hug him first. You shouldn’t have made her wait like that. 

Chara doesn’t seem to mind, though, maybe even thankful to you as she stands still, looking at her adoptive father hesitantly and lingering by your side. She begins to say something, you think maybe an apology, but then Asgore holds up his arms and opens them and the words instantly die as she runs into them, wrapping her own around his chest and squeezing him just as tight as you were if not tighter.

“Father,” you almost miss her whisper into his shirt, and it’s almost like the two of them actually are seeing each other for the first time since Chara’s death. Maybe when they previously reunited they didn’t get to spend too much time together. Either way, the sight is heartwarming, and seeing Chara with Asgore like this simply reminds you of how far you’ve come and how Chara can finally live a happy life with her family now. 

It makes you happy. 

You’re glad that you’re here to witness a moment such as this.

When the two separate, you timidly walk behind them and close the door, trying not to ruin the moment, but end up capturing both of their attentions instead. 

“I am hoping that your mother has tea?” he says it like a question, but you’re pretty sure he knows Toriel wouldn’t be one to ever not have tea in her kitchen. You let Chara answer.

She smiles. “Of course.”

“Well…” the boss monster walks forward a few steps so he’s closer to the two of you, “let us sit and have tea, then.”

And so, the three of you head to the kitchen, where, unsurprisingly, Toriel is nowhere to be found. You and Chara both sit at the table waiting for Asgore to make tea, occasionally helping him out on where everything is located. You have a feeling that his once wife will make an appearance at some point, though. Despite how bitter she is towards him (which, is something you and Chara both actually find a tiny bit funny, despite the sadness of the reality of the situation) you know that deep down she still cares. Even if it’s just a little. And, secretly, you hope that she does care a lot more than she acts like she does.

Maybe it’s selfish, but ever since you found out that the two were broken up you’ve wanted them to get back together. Especially now, on the Surface, with Chara alive and in a body and living with Toriel. You know it’ll never be like old times for her, for any of them, but maybe it’d be close if they were together again. And lived together. At least, you think it would make Chara happier, and the Dreemurr family could be one step closer to completion if they did. 

You just can’t imagine how it is for Chara.

She died, was dead for God knows how long at this point, and then when she awoke, her parents were separated. And, to make it even more hard on her, when she finally became corporeal and could technically really live, they were still not together. It must’ve felt just like yesterday that they were all sitting together at the dinner table, eating butterscotch pie and laughing. Just yesterday that they were a family. 

You think, if, somehow, they were to make up and get back together, it would be one less pain Chara would have to carry on her shoulders. 

Maybe… 

You’ll try to look into…  _ helping their relationship out  _ a little in the near future. 

You  _ are _ an ambassador. Ambassadors keep peace. Who says you couldn’t be a marriage counselor? They’re  _ practically _ the same thing, aren’t they?

“So,” you start when Asgore finishes making the tea, setting cups in front of you and Chara before sitting down. “What have you been up to all this time, dad? We haven’t seen you for a while.”

“It has been quite a long time,” he agrees, and you lift your cup to your mouth, blowing on it gently before taking a sip, “I have been… busy. Dealing with human politics, mostly. Actually, I just met with a senator earlier this week.”

“Politics, huh,” you repeat, feeling a little guilty. If you think your job is tiring, his job must be exhausting. And, you haven’t even done that much. You really should be helping him. Would he let you do that? If he wouldn’t, just taking more action as an ambassador could still also really help him out. Which… you haven’t been doing. Of course, you’ve been busy too, and you did just get back from an ambassadorial trip, but… you’ve also been in the house a lot. You can do so much better. It’s no excuse. “How did the meeting go?”

You promise yourself that you’re going to step up with this whole Ambassador thing. From now on, you’re going to do everything that you can. 

“Quite well, actually,” he replies, his tone turning prideful, “he had seen your speech, Frisk. Which, by the way, you did a fantastic job with. He seemed very moved. In fact, he wanted to meet you. And you as well, Chara.”

“H-Huh?” you blink, taking a second to process his words. A senator saw your speech. (Was he  _ there _ ?) Someone that important. He  _ liked _ it. He was  _ influenced _ by it. He wants to meet you and Chara.

You never thought ever in your life would you hear the words “senator”, “meet”, and “you” in the same sentence. 

“No rush, of course,” he clarifies, but you weren’t even thinking about the time of when you would meet, you were just so dumbfounded that you were still pondering over the meaning of his words. 

“R-Right,” you murmur, still not sure how to handle that information. Should you be nervous? Should you even be worrying about it right now? Who knows when it’ll happen, so...

How does Chara feel about it?   


You glance over at her, and despite her mostly neutral expression, you can sense her uneasiness through it. And it instantly makes you feel that rush of guilt again.

You know how Chara feels about people. And yet you just  _ had _ to get her involved in all of this. She could be living a fairly normal happy life with her family that she deserves, but, no, you had to screw it up and rope her into participating in all of your ambassador fiascos and now she’s stuck. 

“Chara…” you begin, reaching over for her. You have to make sure she knows that she doesn’t have to be involved in any of this more than necessary. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to…”

“Of course I want to,” she replies quickly, turning towards you and causing you to drop your arm, “I wouldn’t let you do something so important by yourself.”

You frown, knowing that’s not her true feelings, but at the same time you feel… happy? You know you shouldn’t, and that that’s insanely self-centered, but… Chara’s willing to participate in this whole mess, put herself in danger, and do things that are incredibly distressing and hard for her…

All for you? So you don’t have to do it alone? So she can be with you?

“He was truly very understanding,” Asgore states, also sensing the discomfort of Chara from the concern written on his features. “If it did so happen that the two of you didn’t want to do it, I’m sure he would understand.”   


“No, that’s not it,” Chara insists, but doesn’t explain any further, looking away. You want to continue to press it, to tell her that she shouldn’t have to clean up after your mess and you’re thankful for everything she’s done already—she really has done  _ so much _ —and that in itself is more than you ever deserve, and, not to mention this is  _ your _ job, but, you don’t. You know that if she doesn’t want to talk about it right now, then you’re not going to get anything out of her. And if she has her mind set on it then there’s really no chance of changing it. After all, she is DETERMINED like you. 

You’ll just talk to her about it later in private. You know then she’ll probably be more open and let herself be vulnerable. Besides, you wouldn’t want to force her to divulge into something personal in front of her father figure. 

Rather, you focus on Asgore’s words, and the more you think about it, the more you realize something fairly troubling. 

“If he was understanding…” you start, relaying your father’s words back to him, “what... were the others like?” 

Once the question’s out of your mouth you instantly know you’re entering risky territory, especially from the way Asgore’s posture tenses, but you don’t back down, looking at him expectantly for an answer. It’s definitely another time where you’re afraid of the answer, but you need to find out what’s going on at some point or another. And since Toriel hasn’t been letting you and Chara watch the news which is something you doubt she’s going to change her mind on very easily (and, with all that’s going on, you don’t feel like having to debate with your mother), then you suppose you guess you’ll just have to go to your next best source. “Dad… what is it like out there?”

It goes quiet for longer than it should. 

And that’s when you start to pick up that something isn’t right.

“It’s…” he stiffens, clearing his throat uneasily, “I doubt your mother would be happy if she knew I was talking to you two about this.”   


She’d probably be more than just unhappy with him, considering their past, and that also makes you feel  _ guilty  _ (you’ve been feeling guilty way too often lately), because you know that he still cares about her and he’s immensely guilty (there it is again) for everything that he’s done, and their relationship is finally starting to sort of become mended, and you  _ don’t _ want to ruin that. Especially because it’s not his fault. You hate having to make him do this, but…

You need to find out. And it won’t matter as long as Toriel doesn’t find out, right?

…You probably shouldn’t be thinking like that. You need to talk to her about this, anyway. You should be able to see the news. Well, you sort of  _ need _ to, with your job and everything. And besides, you shouldn’t be sheltered like…

Like you’re a  _ kid. _

Because, in reality…

You’re not a kid. 

...Are you an adult?   


No. You don’t think so. You at least don’t hope so. Sixteen comes with a lot of adult privileges, though. Ones you haven’t been able to utilize. But, that’s still a teenager. And, another but—are you really sixteen? That was just a rough estimate, wasn’t it? With all these RESETs, and now these timelines that you didn’t even  _ know  _ about…

_ Who knows how old you are. _

The thought makes you freeze up, but you force yourself to become grounded again and back into the situation at hand. No time to think about your age right now, whatever it may be. You have the body of a sixteen year old (you think? At least, close enough) and that’s what matters and that’s what you’re going to leave it at.

For now.

Now…

What can you say?

“Are you hiding something from us?”

Although, Chara speaks before you get a chance to think of a good way to approach this.

She doesn’t sound mad—although, you think she may be a little irritated behind that careful, neutral face she tries to keep most of the time—but does outwardly show a bit of suspicion, eyeing him up while taking a sip of her tea. 

“I mean, there would be no reason for her to be unhappy if you were to tell us if the two of you weren’t hiding something, no?” she explains, this time with a bit more force in her voice.

Well, she’s not wrong.

And Asgore seems to realize this too, shifting under the intense scrutiny of Chara, which, you really can’t blame him for. She definitely is a very intense person, and she knows how to get information out of people. Even her gaze can just be so… acute. You know you’ve used that word to describe her before and you’re still not sure if it’s completely correct, but either way, it’s like, when she looks at you like that…

She can literally see  _ straight into your soul. _

It’s kind of like when Sans glares through empty sockets. It makes the hair on your skin stand up and sends chills down your spine. It’s a great tactic to get people to do and say what you want. 

Sometimes you envy the way they can be so intimidating like that. You don’t think you could ever manage to pull anything of that nature off. 

Eventually, the boss monster sighs, not being able to argue with Chara’s point. “You are right. I do not think that your mother is trying to hide things from you, per say. Neither am I. We just… think that you would be better off not knowing some of these things, but… it’s better that you hear it from us, rather than a different source, I suppose. And, you would have found out sooner or later, especially with Frisk’s occupation.” It feels like he’s dancing around the subject, but he does eventually get to the point. “Things ‘out there’, as you called it, Frisk, they are not… they are not the best.”

Just like you thought.

There  _ are _ things going on. 

Both you and Chara are silent in an attempt to get him to elaborate, which he obviously doesn’t want to do, but ends up doing so after another few beats of quietude. “Of course, that is not to say that there is another war going on or something of that sort… although, I suppose it is bordering on that nature.” 

Once he admits that, you swear that you can  _ feel _ the temperature in the room go cold and the air tense.

“There are riots and protests, and although there is quite a large amount of people who support monsterkind and our rights, there is also a unfortunate amount that does not. These people, they have not been very… agreeable. They refuse to listen to reason, and even slander our name to news outlets. There… have been several attacks where both people and monsters have gotten hurt.”

You feel your stomach twist into knots and your hands curl into fists. 

Why didn’t you just ask mom about this earlier? Who cares about her reaction and her stubbornness, there’s still a small chance that you could’ve gotten  _ something _ out of her. Something to clue you into what’s going on or lead you to investigate on your own. Why did you simply blindly follow her orders like that and pretend that everything is okay? You love Toriel, she’s your mother, you love her to  _ death, _ but you know about her overbearing and sheltering natures by now. You should’ve known that she was trying to protect you from all of this. You should’ve done something sooner.

_ God,  _ maybe then there wouldn’t have been  _ more pain. _

This is your job. This is what you’re supposed to be trying to prevent. 

You’re failing so,  _ so  _ miserably. 

“Have…” you feel your throat constricting at the thought of it, not wanting to even say the words, but you push them out anyway, “have people been killed?”

Asgore looks away. Which, is a dead giveaway. But the sick feeling you get doesn’t set in completely until he solemnly nods.

This whole situation feels awfully similar to one you had only a day ago, and it just makes that  _ sick _ feeling you get whenever you talk about anything involving death worsen. 

_ Well,  _ a part of you thinks to yourself without actually thinking,  _ this is better than having blood on your own hands. _

You immediately shut that part of you up. It’s practically the same. You’re supposed to be protecting monsters, and keeping this from happening. This  _ does  _ fall back on you. This  _ is  _ your fault. 

And you just can’t help but feeling like this whole situation has happened one too many times. All of these secrets need to stop. What else could everyone be hiding from you?

...It takes you a second to understand the hypocrisy of that thought. You can’t be feeling all mad about people hiding things from you when you’re probably hiding  _ ten times _ more secrets than they are. 

Even so. 

_ You should’ve known. _

Of course things wouldn’t just be perfect out there.  _ Of course  _ they wouldn’t. How could you even tell that to yourself? It’s just irrational and stupid and  _ something a child would think  _ and you  _ are not  _ a child. You can’t be. Not for this. You  _ need _ to grow up. 

_ You should’ve done something sooner. _

This is your fault.

“Frisk.”

You jump at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder, feeling warm after the wave of cold you just experienced. You find yourself suddenly starving for affection, and get the urge to simply collapse into the owner of the hands’ arms and just stay there forever and forget about all of this. Pretend like it’s all okay again. But, you don’t move, knowing if you look up at Chara then you’ll cave into your desires and do just that.

“Look at me.”

You inwardly sigh. You guess you’ll just have to trust yourself to be strong. 

Slowly, you obey, turning your head towards Chara and instantly meeting a worried and sad gaze, but also, comfort and warmth. You let yourself bathe in it whilst fighting the urge to wrap your arms around her like you know you want to. 

“It  _ isn’t  _ your fault.” Her tone goes stern and serious, the hand on your shoulder tightening slightly. “Things like this are inevitable.”

“But, still,” you begin to argue, starting to grow frantic, grabbing onto her arm in your growing panic, “I could’ve done something earlier—I could be doing something  _ now. _ I need to. This is what  _ I _ was supposed to prevent. I haven’t been doing anything. I have to do something. I need to help. This can’t be happening, there can’t be anymore death—!”   


“Shh.”

She completely cuts you off by pulling your head into her chest and cradling you  _ just like you were hoping for  _ and you find yourself unable to resist anymore, hugging her back and burying your face in her shirt, needing this comfort and affection from someone.

“You  _ have _ done things, and you will continue to do so,” she says, stroking your hair, which causes your tensed up body to relax slightly against your will, “it’s not your fault, love. It’s not your fault.”

You only nod wordlessly, clinging onto hers. Not your fault.  _ Not your fault.  _

_ It’s not your fault. _

You begin repeating it to yourself like a mantra, so you can’t think about anything else and get yourself anymore worked up than you are for fear of completely losing it. 

_ Not your fault. Not your fault. Not your fault.  _

_ It isn’t your fault. _

“Father, thank you for telling us,” Chara tells him while she continues to comfort you, now threading her fingers through your hair and gently undoing any knots. You can feel the vibration of her talking through her chest. “it may not seem like it, but this is what needed to happen. We needed to know. You did the right thing.”  
Once again reminded of his presence, you immediately apologize, trying to turn your head towards him while still remaining in Chara’s arms. “Dad, I’m sorry, I can handle this, I can fix it, I’m just…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Frisk,” Chara murmurs, tucking your head back into place. “Your reaction is normal. Especially considering how kindhearted and empathetic you are.   


“Although, not everyone is as sweet and understanding as you are,” she adds sadly, the fingers in your hair tightening just a little, “with the way humans are, monsters were bound to get hurt. Even people themselves were bound to get hurt. Humans often hurt their own kind, sometimes even for  _ fun _ .” Her voice is suddenly filled with bitterness, and it hurts you that she may know that from experience. “I bet if you didn’t do your speech a few days ago, it would’ve been a lot worse. There’s only so much you can do. There is always going to be violence and killing in this world as long as there are humans. That’s simply the way it is. Of course, with time, violence against monsters will get better, and I’m sure you’ll help that process along as well.”

With this, she pulls you back slightly, brushing your a few loose strands away from your eyes and studying you concernedly. “Alright? Not your fault. Got it?” 

You still could’ve done more.

You open your mouth to tell her that, but she shakes her head. 

So, reluctantly, you end up nodding anyway. 

“Good girl. Are you okay now?” She moves her thumb across your cheek affectionately and you lean into the gesture, once again nodding but also giving her a verbal yes.

She smiles at this, continuing to hold you and caress your face for a little longer before letting you pull back and face Asgore again. 

You remember every single time she had to comfort you in the Underground so you wouldn’t lose your remaining sanity. Every time you were close to giving up, she would soften and encourage you gently. She’s always been there for you. 

You find yourself smiling too, forgetting the violence going on in the world for just a moment, simply focusing on how much you care about Chara. Practically every positive emotion one can have towards a person you hold for her. 

“Thank you,” you whisper to her, and then take a deep breath and turn to Asgore, although, this time with a clearer mind and not on the verge of a full fledged panic attack, ready to think about this logically.

“Sorry,” you apologize to your father sheepishly, feeling bad he had to witness that after  _ you _ were the one who asked him to tell you, “sometimes, I just get like that.”

_ Which, needs to be something that you work on to be a good ambassador.  _

“But, Chara’s right, it was something we needed to know,” you reiterate firmly. “Thank you for telling us. I just feel that… there’s things I can do to help that I haven’t been doing. To lessen the violence. It is my job, after all.”   


“Chara is also right about it not being your fault as well, though,” he says, looking worried for you. You still can’t believe how many amazing people you have that care about you. 

“I guess I just feel like I could be doing more,” you admit, not wanting to argue but not wanting to agree with that, because it really is your fault. You think over your next question carefully, but ultimately decide to ask it. You’ve already asked something you were afraid of and gotten an extremely negative answer today. It can’t get worse than what you’ve already heard, you think. “Would you… would you let me come along to some of your meetings with politics, maybe? Or at least just let me go with you when you go on trips related to monster rights?” 

He seems almost relieved when that ends up being your question, but at the same time, he answers with mixed emotion. “I am not sure. I, myself do not mind, as I know you are a wonderful ambassador and how good you are with your words, but, unfortunately, it is not my choice to make.” 

Oh. Right.

You almost forgot for a second there that he’s not truthfully your father—well, adoptive father, but not even that. He and Toriel aren’t together yet. 

“You’ll have to ask your mother.”

Yup. There it is. 

Poor Chara. If you forget about their relationship so easily like that, who knows how hard it must be for her.

“Okay, I can do that.” You suddenly feel determination radiating through your being as you continue. “Either way, I’ll definitely find some way to help all of this. No matter what it takes. I’m going to make sure violence is as low as it can possibly be.”

You didn’t really recognize the feeling of determination at first, probably because it’s been a little while before you’ve been  _ that _ determined. For some reason, you don’t like that possibility. 

But, deciding to take advantage of the feeling now that you have it so strongly, you look Asgore straight in the eyes and say, “I promise.”

Normally, you wouldn’t “promise” so easily, since you have a strong belief to keep your promises no matter what (it makes sense; you  _ are _ surrounded by strong promise keepers), but you just feel so… well,  _ determined _ to make this all better.

There can’t be anymore death.

Especially not because of you. You can’t hurt anyone anymore. It has happened  _ way _ too many times. 

Asgore simply smiles at you in a very fatherly way, looking proud and happy at the same time. “I will trust you on that one, Frisk.”

You guess, if not anything else, people can at least trust you for holding through with your word. You’ve been taught well, huh?

Before you can reply back, Toriel enters the room, causing all of you to stop and look over at her. It scares you slightly, because you think she may have overheard what you were talking about and could be mad, but she then she calmly walks over to the table and sits down (of course, on the opposite end of Asgore, which makes both you and Chara glance at each other with an amused look) and you relax.

“I hope I am not too late to join in,” she says, almost questioningly, and you smirk to yourself, suddenly getting an idea.

“You’re not,” you assure her, but stand up, “I think we’ll just… leave the two of you alone, though. To discuss… adult things.” 

You quickly begin shuffling out of the kitchen with Chara hiding her laughter behind her hand and following, both of you stopping and saying goodbye to Asgore and hugging him before briskly leaving the room.

You hear Toriel’s protests and her mild annoyance at being pretty much sabotaged, but ignore it, closing the door and bursting out into full blown laughter once you and Chara are a safe distance away, still going at a fairly fast pace until you get up the stairs. It really wasn’t  _ that _ funny, but you think you both just wanted a break from the heaviness of the conversation. 

Standing outside of the door of your room, the two of you both calm down. Mostly.

“I kind of want to go listen to them,” Chara states, but you can tell she’s not being serious. “I almost wish that I was a ghostly again so I could easily spy on them without being seen…”

“Me too,” you agree, grinning at the thought of what they could be talking about. “But, I’m glad you’re solid now. I think it suits you better.” You wink, and Chara scoffs, but you can tell that it gets to her a little bit. “In any case, I think we should let them have their secrets. For now. Maybe it’ll make them closer.”   


You initially mean that as a lighthearted statement, but you soon see how, considering everything, it’s not very lighthearted at all, and your mood drops again. 

You try to hide it and think of something else to say to lighten everything again, but Chara easily notices before you get the chance to, instantly turning serious and taking a few steps closer to you, but you look away, instead opting to narrow your eyes at the floor. 

“Secrets…” you repeat the word bitterly, crossing your arms around your stomach, “why do we all have so many secrets?” You shake your head, your fingernails digging into the fabric of your sleeves.   


There’s a gentle touch on your cheek. You look up, seeing that it’s Chara’s hand. Your eyes subsequently wander to her face and you sigh, looking away again when you’re met with concern and worry. You don’t deserve it.

“I shouldn’t be talking about this. I have no right to be mad. I’m…” you slowly look back up to Chara,  _ guiltily,  _ “I’m keeping so much from everyone too. I may even have the most secrets out of all of us.”

But you’re too weak, too selfish, too much of a coward to share them. Even when you know, from experience, that these kinds of secrets—your kind of secrets, the ones that you are keeping—hurt people. 

“There are things that I haven’t told even you, and you’re closer to me than anyone else.”

_ I wish I was strong enough to. _

“Frisk.”   


Chara steps in front of you, not moving her palm from your face, forcing you to look at her—well, look  _ up _ at her. There’s a rare mix of gentle emotions in her eyes. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything.” She places her other hand on the other side of your cheek, leaning down a bit to be closer to your face. “You don’t have to tell  _ any _ of us anything. As long as it doesn’t directly endanger you.” She leans back again a touch. “It’s normal to have secrets. Everyone has them. But, some things aren’t meant to be secrets, because they harm other people.”

_ As long as it doesn’t directly endanger you... _

Not directly, you suppose. Not anymore now that you’re away from your old life.

You would hope.

A part of you wants to just spill everything. All of your secrets. All of the things you keep hidden from other people. You want to tell Chara all of it. You’ve been keeping all of this for so long and if you just let it out maybe it wouldn’t feel so heavy and the idea of others finding out wouldn’t scare you so much.

But the other part of you knows better. You wouldn’t push that kind of thing on her. If she knew what you did…

She would find out who  _ you really are.  _

She would never look at you the same way again. 

It’s selfish, really. Deceitful. Especially when you already know a lot about her past. Not everything, but at least the whole thing with Asriel and the cause of her death. That’s more than she knows about you.

You want…

You don’t know what you want. You don’t know what to do about it.

But…

If you want to get to know Chara more, then in turn she’s going to expect you to tell stuff too, right? And she’s bound to find out some way, at some point. After all, with your connection with her, she’s already seen bits and pieces of the things you’ve kept to yourself. She doesn’t know the context or backstory to them, so they’re sort of useless, but there’s no saying that at some point she won’t see more. 

“I want to tell you,” you blurt it, partially afraid that if you think anymore about it you’ll lose your nerve, “I want you to know. I know things about you that you didn’t want me to know. It isn’t fair for me to keep so many things to myself. And… I really want to talk about it with you.”

No one is going to get hurt because of you anymore. 

Especially not because of your stupid fear of your reputation being ruined. 

...And your relationships, but you need to stop thinking about yourself.

Chara begins to smile, though, and you soon forget all of your doubts and worries, all of the risks now seeming worth it. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to know either. Like you said…” 

She suddenly pushes her forehead against yours, her red eyes consuming your brown ones. “ _ I want to know everything about you. _ ”

You blink in surprise, your breath momentarily leaving you at the proximity. But, before you even get to enjoy it, she pulls back again, her demeanor switching back to the calm and gentle one she was just using before. “But, don’t force yourself, alright? I promise, no matter what it is that it won’t affect our relationship, so you don’t have to be scared, okay? I… know how hard it can be. And, right now, we have quite a few other things to deal with.” 

“You’re right,” you mumble, reminded of all the timeline stuff and things with Sans and your ambassadorial issues. “But, still, I… want to know everything.”

“As do I for you,” her smile widens as she fondly strokes your skin, “but, let’s get you through all this for now. Once we’re more stable, we can just talk and tell all, alright?”

She says “talk and tell all” in a sort of playful manner, but you know she’s serious about the offer. You nod. “Definitely. I will definitely tell you everything. Just…

“Not today,” the both of you say in unison, and you smile breathlessly back at her.

You just hope that until then, your secrets don’t end up hurting anyone.

But, you guess, they aren’t secrets if they’re meant to be told, right? So, it should be fine… 

“For now,” she drawls out the word ‘now’ almost excitedly, and you sense she’s trying to cheer you up, “how about you and I go in my room and forget about everything for a little while, yeah?”

You can’t resist that offer. “I was honestly going to suggest the same thing.”

The two of you laugh and you follow Chara to her room, not having been in it too many times. It’s organized, as you would expect, from the few items that it holds. You’ve had such little time to fix up the house; you’re looking forward to what she’ll do with it when you get more time to do so. It’s plain and simple, for now, though, which you can appreciate. You almost jump on her bed and bury your face in the covers to see if it smells like that wonderful scent of hers.

...Except you quickly realize how creepy that is and simply collapse onto it with her. 

You end up discreetly smelling the pillows anyway. But, you barely have to, that strangely sweet scent of flowers and citrus highly prevalent; you’re surrounded by it.

“I love your room,” you say happily, turning towards her with what turns into a pleading gaze. 

She looks back at you blankly, not seeming to know what you’re getting at, but realization spreads on her face as soon as she understands. And then it turns into a smirk.

“What? You want to cuddle with me?”

You feel your face redden and tear your gaze away, nodding shyly only to be swiftly taken into Chara’s arms and tucked into her warm and soft body. 

“Dork. You don’t even have to ask.”

You smile at the nickname, wrapping your arms around her and situating yourself comfortably against her body. You remember when she used to call you that (amongst a lot of other… more insulting things) and actually mean it insultingly, but it slowly has turned into an affectionate thing for the two of you.

“You’re so  _ small _ ,” Chara murmurs against your hair, resting her chin against your head in an almost protective way. You instantly retort.

“H-Hey! I’m not…  _ that _ small,” you try to argue, but it’s obvious that you have no chance at all winning this conversation. Wrapped in Chara’s arms, you begin to realize just how small you are. But, then again, Chara’s rather tall, so it’s not a  _ completely fair comparison— _

“Oh, but you are,” she teasingly replies, one hand moving to stroke your hair, and you know you’ve lost at this point, all of your fighting spirit leaving you the moment she begins to pet you. “And it’s so  _ cute. _ It makes me want to protect you all the more. You’re so precious.” 

She runs her hand through your brown locks, curling one around her finger. You can feel your face burning at the flattery and you’re suddenly thankful for it being hidden in her shirt. “You love it when I play with your hair, don’t you?”

Closing your eyes, you nod, letting yourself sink into the feeling, not being able to find the strength to talk.  

“I’ve noticed. Whenever I do it, you instantly relax.” Her other hand moves to your hip, slipping over it and pulling you closer to her, and then resting it against the small of your back. You recall when she started stroking your hair during your talk with Asgore in an attempt to calm you down and how well it worked. It makes you feel so cared for that she picked up on something like that. “I think you just like touch a lot, don’t you?”

This time, you give her a hum as confirmation, still too relaxed to speak. She notices, chuckling softly. 

“It’s so strange… I’ve always hated physical contact, even with monsters, and especially with humans. But with you… I just can’t seem to get enough of it…”

She sounds thoughtful, and it makes you wonder why, too. You’re nothing special.  _ Especially _ your body. You wouldn’t understand why  _ anyone _ would want to touch it or find it pretty. It’s littered with nasty scars and bruises that just don’t seem to heal, only so many covered by bandages, and, you’re still missing those three nails. They were growing back, last time you checked, and maybe you should just let Toriel heal you, but you’re not sure if it would work to make them grow back or if it’s better if you let them grow in again on their own. You’re incredibly thin and malnourished, although, you do suppose that is getting better with time. But you’re physically weak and very unimpressive in that aspect. Your body is  _ gross _ , it’s…

_ Used. Dirty. _

But…

Her saying that means so much. Even if you know you don’t deserve it and if she ever saw your body fully she’d probably be disgusted. 

Knowing that she likes to touch you… 

It makes you  _ feel _ special. Wanted. 

Happy.

“What are you doing to me, love?” she asks affectionately, but you sense a hint of actual confusion and questioning behind it. “Making me so happy all the time and all of these other stupid, warm feelings… it’s quite annoying, you know that?”

You giggle, feeling a warm feeling similar to the ones she mentioned spreading throughout your body. “I know. I almost thought you weren’t capable of feeling any positive emotions.”   


You expect her to be at least slightly annoyed with that statement, as you did sort of say it to get some sort of rise out of her, but she’s not fazed at all. “Honestly, me neither. But, here I am now, so happy to simply have you close. You are definitely a miracle worker.”

You nestle your face against her at that. “I try.”

There’s a small beat of comfortable quiet, despite the quiet chuckling from Chara before she speaks again.

“I care about you so much, Frisk.” Her voice is suddenly more serious and emotional, and your chest fills with happiness.

“I care about you a lot too, Chara,” you say confidently into her shirt, holding her a little tighter. “You’re…  _ so important  _ to me.”

The petting stops for a moment, and you think you may have said something wrong, but then she continues, holding you tighter as well.

“You’re important to me too,” she whispers, and you feel yourself overwhelmed by the care you have for this girl.

You close your eyes again, breathing in her scent deeply. You feel so safe here, safe and warm and  _ so happy,  _ and you wish that you could stay in here with her like this forever.

“Can we stay like this forever?” 

You voice your thoughts, getting a hum of agreement in response. 

“We could always try.” Chara begins to run her free hand up and down your back, and you can hear the amused but happy smile in her voice. “I’ll be with you forever, so… we can do this whenever for the rest of eternity. That’s close enough, at least, isn’t it?”

_ It isn’t. You already went through the Underground attacked by all of your friends and were killed numerous times. You’re so tired. You just want to get a break. You don’t know if you can deal with this—with all this heavy stuff. You don’t know if you can be a good ambassador. Every second you have to be on your toes and bad things keep happening and you have this terrible feeling that they’re only going to get much,  _ much _ , worse.  _

You ignore that side of yourself. 

“Yeah.”

For now, this is okay. This is all you need. All you could ever ask for and want.

“It is.”

For now, things are okay. Right now, things are okay. 

“Chara…”

“Hm?”

You hesitate, not sure exactly what you were going to say. The words are there but just out of your reach. You want to express just how much you care about her, but…

You don’t know how to put that into words…

“Thank you for always being here for me,” you settle on, gratitude being one of the biggest ways you display towards people you care about, “I just… I couldn’t imagine a life without you. I hold you so close to my heart.”

Chara isn’t disappointed, though. If anything, some part of you feels like she also can relate to not being able to put that…  _ warm _ feeling into words, for some reason. You’ll just call it that for now. “It’s nothing. I… care about you more than you’ll ever know.”

She says that last part quietly, almost like she doesn’t actually want you to hear it. 

_ But she said it anyway. _

This is nice.   


You start to feel yourself get tired; you’re so comfortable and content like this. But, you force yourself to stay awake for a little longer, wanting to savor this time you have with Chara. This is all you need. You can keep going. You can keep being strong. As long as you have her… 

_...You can do anything. _

Things are going to be okay. If not now, then they will eventually. And you can stay strong with Chara by your side until then.

That’s what you tell yourself, over and over, in some attempt to keep your mind aware so you can stay awake, but it doesn’t last long. You just forget about everything except you and Chara. You’re so happy like this. Being held by such an important person in your life that you’ve been dying for the affection of. It feels so good. And the way she holds you, like you’re fragile and could break if she wasn’t too gentle, and like she’s going to protect you from the world, you feel completely at ease and safe. So safe in her embrace. You really do wish you could stay here with her forever.

You don’t last much longer, though, too content and warm to stay awake any longer. Oh well. Maybe just a little while won’t hurt...

For once, your dreams are pleasant. No nightmares. Just you and Chara. Happy and safe. 

  
  


 

 

And  _ if only _ good things could last forever. 

You wake up to an absence of warmth and calmness that you had just a little bit ago. The bed seems strangely empty…

You open your eyes to find Chara not with you anymore.

Blinking, you sit up, rubbing your eyes and glancing around the room. It’s considerably darker than it was before, leaving you to wonder just how long you were asleep. Isn’t this like the second time this has happened this week? You really should work on your sleep schedule. You can’t be getting enough sleep every night if you continuously keep falling asleep just when you feel comfortable and safe. 

You begin to get up to go search for Chara, but stop when your eyes meet a certain sentient flower that you swear was  _ not _ here when you first came in.

“F-Flowey?”

He directs his gaze to you boredly. “Oh. You’re awake.”

Okay, now you’re more confused. He’s been here long enough to see you asleep… just when did he get here? 

“How long have you been in here?”   


He grimaces at that. “Long enough.”

You stare at him in confusion. What’s that all about?   


Oh. Wait a second.

Does he mean…?

“W-Wait! You mean…? You’ve been here? This whole time?” you ask him incredulously, but you’re only met with a look screaming,  _ ‘are you that stupid?’  _ “But… what? How? How did I not notice…?”

“I spied on you literally the whole time in the Underground. Are you that surprised that I’m good at going undetected?”

Fair point, you guess. But still, what the hell? Why didn’t he say anything? 

“How did you even get in here?”

You voice your last question out loud. He gives you that unimpressed look that makes you feel stupid again.

“I’m a sentient plant, idiot. I can move around.” 

_ How…? _

...Never mind. You don’t even want to imagine what that looks like. 

You suppose that does make sense to some degree. You’ve just never really thought about it after you got out of the Underground.

You probably should’ve figured. There were times where he just randomly disappeared from your room only to reappear later. You never really questioned it. You just thought it was Chara moving him around. Which, it could’ve been some of the times. But, probably not all considering he can apparently move around even though he’s in a pot. 

...If he can move around actively, and you know he has been, does that mean he’s still spying on people? Does he…

_ Does he hear everything that goes on here?  _

That thought makes you mentally shudder. He doesn’t just sit around all day. This is Flowey you’re talking about. You’re stupid for even implying that to yourself. 

What kind of things does he  _ know _ ?   


Now that you’re not actively blocking out the world with Chara’s fantastic help and thinking again, you find your mind wandering back to the conversation you had earlier. Could he know more about what’s going on outside? 

Only one way to find out, you guess.

“Hey,” you push yourself onto your knees and lean forward so you’re closer to him, “since I know that you don’t just sit around all day… do you know what’s going on on the outside, too?”

Maybe it’s sort of rude, asking him for information like this, but…

You do want to know.

“Obviously.” You realize that was probably a dumb question. Of course he wouldn’t limit his spying to just the house. “What, do you  _ not? _ ”

You look away. “No… not really.”   


“All it takes is one look at the news…” he trails off, not giving you any information at all to go off of, and you look back at him, expecting him to answer your question, but you’re met with a malicious sneer and it dawns on you that you may have been too optimistic about his nature. “Oh, but mommy banned you from looking at that, right?”

_ What a  _ great _ ambassador you are. _

He doesn’t say it, but you can tell that’s what he’s getting at. You curl your hands into fists, feeling another wave of self-loathing. If it wasn’t such a weak spot for you, you’d be able to tell that he’s just trying to rile you up and make you mad so you’ll make rash and dumb decisions, but with your lack of information and knowing that there is in fact something wrong, you’re not thinking very rationally anymore. 

Why did you think it was a good idea to ask? It would’ve been nice to say that Flowey changed his ways after turning back into Asriel and everything, but even if there’s still hints of the sweet goat monster left in him, he’s still Flowey. He still has the desire to cause chaos for his own entertainment.  _ Of course  _ he’s not going to tell you anything. At least, not what you want or need to know. He’s only going to give you just enough information to make you do what he wants. You still think that he can get better, even in this form, but at this point, you’re aren’t thinking about that anymore. 

“...I’m leaving,” you announce, getting off of the bed and walking to the door, “I’ll be back in a second.” 

You close it behind you without looking back, because you’re sure if you did that you’d find some sort of satisfied look on his face. 

You walk down the stairs, looking over the railing for any signs of Toriel and Chara, since it’s obvious that Asgore has left at this point. The rooms are dark, but you can tell the kitchen light is on. Reaching the last step and rounding the corner, you call out for them.

“Chara?” you stand at the doorway, looking around the empty room. Maybe mom’s in a room behind a closed door and that’s why you can’t see her? In any case, you try your luck with her, too. “Mom?”

No response. You don’t think anyone’s down here.

Then does that mean they must be upstairs?

You begin walking back to the staircase, glancing around from the bottom. You can’t tell from down here if Toriel’s light is on or not, and since you were just in Chara’s room and she wasn’t there, where else could she be?

You almost start up the stairs again, thinking maybe Chara stepped out of the room to talk to Toriel or something and you went downstairs before she could’ve come back, but then your eyes drift back across the darkened living room. That has a TV. 

_ There’s no one around,  _ you think to yourself, slouching over the railing while glaring at the vacant room in front of you,  _ you could easily go in, put the sound on low and turn on the news to see what’s going on and no one would know. _

It’s going behind Toriel’s back and disobeying her orders, of course, which you have tried to follow since it’s she’s the only real mother you’ve ever had and loved this much and the only mother you  _ currently _ have. It’s the least you could do in turn for her adopting a child like you. And, not to mention, you still have some fear over going against what adult figures tell you to do because the punishment always ended up being  _ really bad _ , but you know Toriel wouldn’t hurt you like that, so...

Is it possible… that you should be more questioning of her methods? 

That sounds like a terrible and selfish thought to you, but, with everything going on is it the right thing to do to go behind her back and disobey her this time? 

After what you heard from Asgore, it seems to be pretty bad, and since Flowey’s acting the way he is, pushing you to find out for yourself, that probably means there is something worthwhile for you to see, right…?

And maybe it’s something you  _ don’t  _ want to see and you’ll end up regretting it, but…

This time, your curiosity gets the better of you and you walk into the living room and shuffle through the dark to find the remote for the TV, leaving the lights off on purpose. You sit down, but not on a chair, instead, directly in front of the screen so you can keep the volume to a complete minimum. Once more, you look around and listen, making sure you hear nothing before finally turning on the device and muting it instantly.

Unsurprisingly, when the image appears, it seems to be some sort of reality show and not what you’re looking for. That would be too easy. Toriel must be keeping tabs on what’s going on through the news by watching it herself if she doesn’t want you and Chara watching it, right? Does she just watch when the two of you aren’t around or are asleep or something?

Trying to recall the few times you did work with a TV (after so many RESETs, a lot of your surface life has become sort of fuzzy…) you take a look over the remote and press the ‘guide’ button, glancing at your options of channels. Nothing close to what you want. If Toriel does watch the news through this TV, does she change the channel to a number that’s far away from the news channel number? You sigh, finding the channel button and beginning to skim through the channels until you find a reputable news source.

...Except, you’re not sure what a “reputable news source”  _ is.  _ You don’t even really remember the names of news channels in general. You didn’t pay attention to that, and even if you did, you rarely got the time to watch television at home, and you’re not sure if you even  _ watched _ news on there. 

This may take a while… 

But exactly how much time do you have?

You try and go fast, but with your lack of knowledge it still ends up taking a considerable amount of time. Fortunately, you  _ do _ find something, and, after making sure that it’s what you’re looking for, you press off of the guide and turn up the volume the slightest bit.

It doesn’t take you long to understand why Toriel tried to keep you away from this kind of stuff. 

You spend way more time than you originally intended watching it. 

And, by the time you hear someone else coming downstairs, you’re already in tears.

* * *

You  _ know _ you have a  _ problem _ when you hold Frisk’s sleeping body in your arms for at least an hour (if not  _ two _ ) despite being completely awake the  _ whole time  _ and the only thing you could think about is  _ her. _

You pretty much spend at least an hour  _ watching her sleep  _ just like you’ve been trying to  _ not _ do this whole time because, for some reason, it’s some weird urge you have (among many  _ others _ , but  _ that’s not the point _ ), and you’ve been  _ trying  _ to avoid it but now you’re one of  _ those  _ people.

It’s just…

How  _ could _ you sleep, with  _ Frisk _ in your arms? Frisk, the  _ way  _ too cute for her own good, angelic souled, sweeter than sugar, endearingly naive and pure, soft and tiny with pink, plush lips that practically  _ beg  _ to be kissed little human. Frisk, who you’d give your entire being for, who you  _ have to protect  _ from this hell of a world, sleeping soundly in your arms. Frisk, this beautiful,  _ beautiful _ girl tucked into your body completely vulnerable and breathing lightly into your clothes occasionally even making these tiny  _ cute  _ sounds—

Oh god, you’re  _ definitely  _ one of  _ those  _ people now. And you  _ definitely  _ are  _ way _ too attached to this girl. 

That sounds a lot like you’re in love with her, doesn’t it? You aren’t. Not at all. You just… like her  _ a little more _ than friends normally like each other. That’s all. No love or romantic feelings here at all. Nope. None at all. Zero. Zilch. Nada. 

(That totally doesn’t sound like denial either, nope. Not thinking about it. You don’t fall in love with people. It’s not possible. Not a thing. Nope nope nope nope.)

...Frisk really does have a cute sleeping face, though.

_ Fuck! Stop thinking about Frisk already! _

You mentally give yourself a slap as you head back into your room. You end up leaving when you hear Toriel calling for you and Frisk outside of the room. Not wanting her to wake Frisk up—she looked so peaceful, and she seemed to be sleeping soundly, which, with all of the nightmares she’s been having lately, you know she needs it—you carefully slipped out of her grip and went to go talk to mom for a while. 

This life, it’s…

So  _ nice _ . 

It felt so good to just talk to mom, like old times. It felt so good to know that Frisk was sleeping peacefully in the next room, and not having to worry about her safety. Despite the things that are going on, things are… okay.

It’s a nice change.

Quietly, you open your door, wondering what you’re going to do tonight. Mom already bid you goodnight, even it’s a little early, since Frisk fell asleep in your room and you both think she probably won’t wake up for a while. You guess you’re going to sleep too, or at least lie in bed with Frisk until you feel tired, but that’s just it… is she going to sleep in your bed tonight? You don’t want to risk waking her by moving her (honestly, you’d rather her just stay with you anyway… only so you can monitor her sleeping and if she has more nightmares you’ll be able to tell and wake her up and you’ll be there if she needs you, of course!) but… will you be able to control yourself if she’s sleeping with you?

_ Ugh, that sounds so bad… _

But, it appears your room is empty. Well, mostly. Besides the weed. Since he doesn’t have a soul you suppose it’s basically empty anyway. The important part is that Frisk isn’t here.

Did she wake up?

You think you feel the flower looking at you as you exit, but you ignore it, opening Frisk’s room and checking in there before going downstairs.

Empty.

You leave and begin down the stairs, but stop midway when you hear something. Your first instinct is danger but as you stop and listen… it sounds like…

Sniffling? 

Is someone crying?   


Wait, is that Frisk?

Now worried, you hurry down the rest of the stairs, but stop once again when you see Frisk huddled in a ball in front of the television, her hand clamped over her mouth and tears running down her face.

She’s watching something about…

Oh. 

_ Frisk… _

You hurry over to her, but she doesn’t notice you until you’re on the ground with her and taking her into your arms, gently taking the remote from her hands and turning off the television. 

“Ch-Chara,” she starts, barely even able to say your name, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t know it would be like this, I just wanted to—”

“I know,” you hug her tightly, one hand going to her head to stroke her silk-like hair, “it’s alright. You didn’t do anything wrong, this… would’ve happened one point at another. I’m not mad. You aren’t in trouble.”

You just wish you were here with her when she saw everything.  
At that, she seems to relax the slightest bit, which you find a little comfort in. But then she starts shaking and it looks like that progress has just been undone.

“I’m scared,” she whimpers, hiding her face in your shirt, “I don’t want anyone else to be hurt, I… I don’t want to go back, I don’t... I d-don’t want to be taken away!” 

Your grip on her tightens. 

_ Go back, huh… _

Go back to who? Who did this to her?

“You won’t be,” you say firmly, “you _won’t be._ _No one_ is taking you _anywhere._ ”

You’d kill anyone that tried.

“I won’t let them,” you tell her, beginning to rub her back to hopefully help cease her shaking. “I won’t let them. I’ll protect you. I promise.

“No one is going to take you away. No one is going to hurt you, Frisk.” 

Even if someone didn’t have ill-intent towards her and tried to take her away from you, you’d go after them. No one is going to touch her. No one is going to hurt her.  _ No one _ . Anyone who even tries will get their neck snapped by yours truly.

You are going to protect her. 

She nods, but you still think she’s not entirely convinced. It hurts you, but at the same time, you get it. If your parents will still alive, if any of the people who had come in contact with you before you fell were still alive now, if you were in Frisk’s shoes…

You’d be scared of being taken away too.

“Chara,” she whines your name in such a sad and scared way and  _ holy shit whoever hurt her is going to fucking get it when you find out you’ll kill them you swear on your life you’ll  _ **_kill_ ** _ them— _

“Yes?” You pull Frisk’s body onto your lap, cradling her in your arms. You’ll have to save that for later. Right now, Frisk needs you.

“What if… what if you get hurt?”

Your chest hurts a little at that. 

“I won’t, love,” if anything, it’s going to be  _ you  _ who will be doing the hurting, but you’ll keep that to yourself, “I’m strong. I know how to protect myself. You know that. And I can protect you and myself both just as well. And, either way, if anything did happen, mom could just heal me. Or, worst case scenario, we could go back.”

She doesn’t seem to like that idea, though, so you go on with something else.

“You have a whole team of people behind you,” you remind her, feeling a slight dampness on your shirt. You don’t care. Frisk could honestly bleed all over your clothing and even if it was the most expensive thing on earth it wouldn’t matter to you as long as she’s okay and she’s safe. “They’re all protecting you. Both monsters and people. Some of them even professionals. Most of them, actually. But neither would let anything happen to either of us. And I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

After that, silence befalls the both of you, aside from Frisk’s occasional sniveling. You hold her tightly, stroking her hair and rubbing her back and even taking up a slight rocking motion to help calm her. And, eventually, it works, her body going still and limp against you, and you feel her arms come out from where they were trapped in between the both of your bodies to wrap around your own. 

“That’s right,” you murmur in encouragement, “you’re alright. You’re safe. I’m here. I won’t let anything bad happen to either of us.”

_ No one is going to hurt us anymore. _

_ No one. _

You stay like this, with Frisk in your arms and your hands in your hair, sitting on the floor for a while. It hurts you to see her like this, but… you’d rather her by crying on you than crying alone. 

You’ll keep her safe. You’ll help her heal. You won’t let anyone take away what Frisk had worked so hard to achieve. You’re not at a happy ending yet persay, but… 

You’ll make sure that the both of you get there. 

You close your eyes, resting your cheek on Frisk’s head. 

_ You’re the most important thing in my life… _

_ I’m not going to let anyone take you away from me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully i should be able to get something out soon? unfortunately i'm back at school, but i'm not going to go back to full days for a longggg time, not to mention winter break is right around the corner so... we'll see =)  
> next up: Chara has a Very Important Realization™ that we've all been waiting for. the real plot is actually beginning and wow i'm ready. i'm so excited to write this next chapter tbh. it's probably going to be like 99% fluff so look forward to that. there's so much in store for everyone and i have such big plans for this story ya'll don't even know.  
> take care of yourselves, everyone! it feels great to be back! happy early holidays! btw, i am planning holiday related chapters. i just love this time of year so much lol


	16. Falling for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who you associated with before you fell… 
> 
> Do any of them still care?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> highkey still r e a l l y pissed about the fcc murdering net neutrality!!!!! i fuckign hate. this country!!! congress better step their asses up and fix this mess jesus fuckign christ  
> okay, now that i've gotten that out,, have this? i've had the idea for this chapter for a while and it's def one of my favorites. i'm so happy with how it came out. it was sososo fun writing this, especially after how long i've planned it out, i just couldn't stop smiling during the latter parts. hope you guys enjoy too.  
> also! have some music that i listened to while writing this (after like the first few scenes though ofc)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0MT8SwNa_U  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEi_XBg2Fpk  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pvP_OwVSFpk  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1P0VSHthVw  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LekA62H17bo
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in frisk's pov.

Chara ends up staying with you until you fall asleep.

You don’t ask her to, feeling as it was too much to ask after she had pretty much comforted you the whole day, but she does it anyway. And you really appreciate it.

You just feel so bad, pushing your problems on her like this. It’s nothing she should have to deal with. But you don’t think you could’ve gotten to sleep without someone with you.

You now know why Toriel is so adamant about keeping the two of you from watching the news.

There are some…

Pretty terrible things going on.

You only stayed to hear at least two stories before Chara came down, and maybe it was better off that way. Hell knows what else could be happening. But, from what you had gathered, there have been many… _murders_ of monsters. Violent ones. Very, _very_ violent. And it was for no other reason but just for the sake of killing.

It made you sick.

People had been underground with you, even if you didn’t come in contact directly with them, you breathed the same air as them, you were in the same place, they’re…

Dead. Gone.

Their lives were taken as if they didn’t matter.

And you just can’t help but feeling like…

_It’s all your fault._

The fact that there could possibly be more cases like this—no, with how humans are, there _will_ be more, it just…

It hurts you.

Of course, that’s not the only thing, though. No, that wasn’t enough. Apparently, according what the reporter had said, some people think that your family has abducted you.

It’s absolutely _insane._

People are speculating about your past, about where you came from, and _how you can be brought back,_ and it’s…

You can’t think about it in detail for too long without having a panic attack.

You _can’t_ go back. You can’t go back there.

There was a _reason_ that you climbed that mountain.

You just really hope that they don’t find anything. At least, you’re going to have to tell your family before they do. They need to find out from _you_. Even if it scares you. You have to do it.

And you will, just…

You need some more _time_ . Can’t the world _at least_ give you that?

In any case, all of it’s very troubling, and you thank God for Chara every day. (Metaphorically. Sort of. Religion has always been a complicated thing for you…)

You fall asleep holding her hand, while she gently runs her fingers over your skin, almost as if to remind you she’s there. She didn’t say she was going to leave, but you sort of figured it, since she sits at the edge of your bed and doesn’t lay down with you or anything. But that’s fine. You honestly appreciate it that she was with you at all.

And that’s why you’re extremely confused when you open your eyes and find yourself in a room that isn’t your bedroom.

And, not Chara, but…

 _Sans_ standing in front of you?

_What… what is this?_

Blinking, you try to go towards him, pushing your confusion to the back of your mind and opening your arms wide for a hug, ready to jump on him—it hasn’t been that long since you last saw him, but with everything that you’ve learned in the past day or so, it feels a lot longer than it really is—but then it occurs to you that your body isn’t moving.

“heya. you’ve been pretty busy, huh.”

Your gaze snaps back up to Sans, who, on closer inspection seems… off. You’re not exactly sure how to describe it, but he’s… tense, almost? His expression is darker than usual and his tone is…

...Angry?

As you look around you, you realize you’re not in your bedroom anymore. You’re in the Judgement Hall.

“so, i’ve got a question for ya.” Sans closes his eyes, and once again you try to speak or move, only for your actions to prove futile. You can still feel your body, can feel yourself standing still, staring at him with a blank expression, but… “do you think even the worse person can change? that everybody can be a good person, if they just try?”

You take a step forward.

_But you aren’t in control._

It’s almost like you’re a passenger of your own body. Sitting back and watching.

You don’t like this.

A thought echoes in your head.

_People don’t change._

But you aren’t the one thinking it.

Sans laughs bitterly, a sound that you’re not used to hearing compared to his normal, good-humored laughter that’s contagious to everyone around him. The atmosphere is practically suffocating.

“alright. well, here’s a better question.”

His eyesockets go black.

“do you wanna have a bad time?”

This isn’t right. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

Whatever it is that you’ve done, you don’t want to stand around to find out. There is something seriously wrong here, and you staying here when you’re not in control of yourself doesn’t sound like a good idea.

“‘cause, if you take another step forward…

“you are REALLY not going to like what happens next.”

 _Don’t do it_ , you try to call out to yourself. _Go back. Run away. Go anywhere else. Don’t. This isn’t right._

You take another step forward.

You’re starting to think that no one can hear you in whatever state you’re in.

“welp. sorry, old lady.”

It doesn’t stop you from trying, though. You think you know where this is going, and you _don’t_ like it.

_Leave. Please, leave. Don’t do this. It’s not a good idea. Leave!_

“this is why i never make promises.”

The familiar tugging feeling in your chest and you’re pulled into a fight.

You knew it.

But… _why?_

Why is this happening? What did you _do_ ? How did it come to this? You and Sans are friends. You promised never to RESET again, and he was _so happy._ He may have even started to trust you. You were making _progress._

And yet, as you watch yourself charge him with a knife in hand, it’s like the two of you don’t even know each other.

Maybe, you don’t.

_Stop!_

You try again despite knowing it’s useless when you manage to dodge most of his first attack, swinging at him with the blade clutched tightly in your grip. Thankfully, though, Sans dodges your attack as well, teleporting behind you.

“what? did you think i was just gonna stand there and take it?”

And then he _winks_ , like he was just making another one of his stupid puns. Like this is normal. Like you aren’t literally trying to _drive a blade through him_ and _end his life._

Once again, you avoid his defense, sidestepping, jumping, and ducking. You always have been good at dodging, something that immensely helped you in your time Underground, but you suddenly aren’t thankful for that learned ability anymore. And, once again, you attempt to hit him, but you ultimately miss and fail.

You hope that he’s better at dodging than you are.

_He can’t dodge forever._

Once again, you find yourself thinking that, but it feels more like someone else’s thoughts in your own head.

_Please keep dodging. Don’t stop. Don’t hesitate. Don’t… give up._

As if you had said nothing, the Frisk that you’re watching continues to try and cut him down, far too good at evading his attacks. Are you even here? Is this…

Even real?

This has to be a dream, right? That’s what this is, right?

Why can’t you just _wake up?_

Either way, you feel panic constricting your throat when you get dangerously close to striking him.

_STOP!_

At this, your body stumbles a bit, and you feel a flicker of hope at the possibility that you may finally be getting through to your not-self, instantly trying to de-escalate the situation.

_Just... stop for for a moment. Think about what you’re doing. This isn’t what should be happening, Sans is our friend—_

…

_...Huh…?_

Your chest is wet with a warm liquid, but… it feels dreadfully cold at the same time.

_Wait…_

There’s something... piercing through you. Inside of your skin. _Inside of you._

Slowly, you shakily droop your head to look down. It takes you a moment to register what you’re seeing, but as soon as you do, the pain follows immediately in a crushing intensity that brings you to your knees.

There’s a bone sticking out of your chest. Your blood stains the bottom of it right before it enters your body.

You’ve lost.

The knife slips out of your hand and onto the floor with small clatter. You start to fall forward, but instead fall back when two more large, sharp bones slice through both of your shoulders.

Whatever force that was controlling you seems to let up from the shock of the hits, and you find yourself back in control of your body, no longer a useless bystander. But, with that, you also feel the unbearable pain full-force. You can _feel_ the hard bones puncturing your body, and _every time you_ make _any_ sort of movement you feel your insides clench and move around the stiffness of them.

It _hurts._

“ _Haaaah_ , hn—!” you cut yourself off with a whine, a sharp pain shooting through your upper body when you try to speak. You want to say something, cry, apologize, _beg for death_ —anything to stop this _pain_ but you _can’t._

“S-S-Sa… S-Saaaaaahhhnss…”

You begin to hyperventilate, which _hurts you even more_ and _oh god why_ when will this _stop_ why won’t it _stop?_ Why is this happening, this _can’t even be real_ — _!_

But the pain you feel is certainly _very real._

 _It_ hurts _, I’m sorry Sans, it hurts so bad, please make it stop I’m so so so sorry_ —

You can barely see his form looming over you through the tears that are now spilling down your cheeks, distorting your vision. He leans down, crouching beside you. Is this it? Is he going to kill you off now?

Wait, _wait,_ you don’t _want to die,_ you’ve already died so many times, you don’t want to die at the hand of one of your closest friends, you’re _scared_ — _!_

But this hurts _so bad_ why doesn’t he _just do it already_ — _?!_

“kid…”

You cry harder at the sound of his voice and the look on his face, choking on your tears and your own blood, coughing and sputtering and only making your wounds hurt worse, _you can literally feel the smooth surface of the bone around your flesh every time you heave,_ when will it just stop…?

“I-I’m-I’m…” you take a shuddering breath in, blinking through your tears and looking at him with wide eyes, “I’m… so…”

You try to lift your arm to reach him, but yelp loudly when you cause your body to move again, immediately dropping it back on the ground, scratching at the cold floor uselessly.

“I-I’m… sorry…”

 _I don’t even know how any of this happened oh god I’m so sorry I didn’t mean for any of this I don’t even_ — _!_

You hear him exhale tiredly, and if you could see him clearly, you’re sure that he’d be glaring at you with a mix of frustration and possibly pity but definitely betrayal. You’re not sure you want to know, though, because, for some reason, you really think that it seems like a part of him is… _enjoying this._

After all, why else would he be drawing out your death so long?

“kid. kiddo. frisk.” He shifts, getting closer, but you’re eyes are losing focus and you can’t tell what he’s doing.

“if you’re really sorry… if you’re really my friend...”

Your eyes loll around uselessly, trying to latch onto something, but ultimately close. You can feel yourself slowly letting go, black spots clouding your vision and your hearing fading in and out.

“ _then you won’t come back.”_

And then there’s a searing pain in your stomach as something else cuts through it easily as if it were jello and you feel yourself scream before it all goes black.

You open your eyes.

Your hands fly to your chest as you sit up gasping, feeling around for anything that’s not supposed to be there.

There’s nothing. You’re in one piece. No bones sticking out of you that you’re not supposed to have. You’re okay.

_Just a dream._

You let out a small breath of relief at this, slumping back against your bed, your breathing still erratic and desperate. Despite knowing that it was just a dream, it wasn’t actually happening…

You can’t soothe your rising anxiety.

That couldn’t have been real, right? That wouldn’t make any sense, you and Sans…

 _The other timelines._ Where you weren’t yourself. Where you killed everyone.

Is that…

What that was?

Oh god was that _real_ ? Did that actually _happen_ at one point?

_Did Sans really kill you?_

You sit up again, panic surging through your body. You aren’t safe here, even Sans who was supposed to protect you had hurt you— _killed_ you, there’s no one you can turn to, he’s going to hurt you again, _you’re all alone_ —

Your door opens and a figure enters before closing again swiftly but quietly, and you begin to freak out, pushing yourself to the other side of your bed and away from the approaching person, you don’t want to get hurt anymore _not again_ —

“Hey, hey, it’s just me, Frisk. Just me,” you stop upon hearing Chara’s voice, peering through the darkness to see her gazing at you with worry. “Are you alright?”

You gradually tell her yes, you’re not hurt or anything, pushing yourself back against the headboard of your bed and pulling your knees to your chest. You’re not alright, though, and Chara knows.

“Did you… dream again?”

It occurs to you that your cheeks are wet. You’re crying.

“...Yeah.”

She sighs before getting in bed with you, pulling you close and comforting you. You relax in her touch, instantly feeling a lot more safe, but also bad for waking her up and making her deal with you. For around the third time today.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, lying against her chest. You would push her away and encourage her to go back to her own room and get her sleep and not worry about you if you were strong and brave enough.

You’re such a burden.

“Don’t be,” she says, reaching down and wiping your wet face with her sleeve, smiling gently down at you. “Not your fault, remember?”

You look away. Chara adds, “I couldn’t really sleep, anyway. So you didn’t wake me up.”

She pulls you a bit closer, unsticking the hair that sticks to your face from cold sweat. You wonder if she could feel the anxiousness that you were feeling because of your nightmares and that’s what kept her up. “Just try and get some sleep. Okay?”

You still feel bad, but you’re too tired—physically and mentally—to argue. Despite how worn out you are from that whole thing, you don’t know if you’ll be able to go back to sleep with your active mind. It’s just too much to think about. You’re even sort of afraid to simply close your eyes again, not wanting to see yourself lying on the cold, hard floor of the Judgement Hall, impaled by bones and dying while Sans watched again.

That was _too real_ not be something that had actually occurred at some point.

What had you done to make Sans that mad? Why couldn’t you control yourself? Is that how it was the whole time? Did the “not-Frisk” hurt people and that’s what warranted Sans to to kill you? Did he not know that you couldn’t do anything? If this did happen in another timeline, did the you then try to do something and ultimately fail? Were you experiencing what you had experienced then? If that was in fact some sort of memory…

_Does Sans remember it too?_

Does he remember killing you? Does he remember the look on your face when you died? The blood coating his bones? Your last breath?

How are you supposed to sleep when these are your thoughts? How can you sleep knowing that there’s a fairly large possibility that one of your best friends killed you? How are you supposed to even live with yourself when you’re wondering if there was a part of him that _enjoyed it?_

...Should you even go to Sans about this?

It’s obvious that you’re not going to stop having these stupid nightmares anytime soon and you’re going to have to find a way to stop them. But you don’t know _why_ you’re having them, or even whether or not they’re actually memories that, for some odd reason, you’re remembering _now_. Sans is the only one who could possibly know the answers to any of these questions, but…

How do you tell someone that you think they murdered you in a different timeline?

You knew you had killed Sans and that was enough on its own, but… at this point, how are you going to look at him the same way? Without being afraid of him? Even if you know he won’t hurt you _now_ you also know he still did _then_ , and you don’t know if you’ll be able to see him without the image of being pinned to the ground and bleeding out flashing back into your mind.

You hate this.

You know you’ll at least tell Chara, but you’re definitely not up for it right now. You aren’t particularly looking forward to it, either. You just hope you’ll be able to convince her not to actually kill him this time. So you guess it’ll just have to wait until tomorrow. You’re not getting any answers tonight.

But it’s not like it’s something you can just forget about…

Still, you at least express your gratefulness for Chara’s presence and the fact that she’s had to take care of you so much. For her, you’ll try regardless. “...Okay. Thank you, Chara.”

She gives you an affectionate hum, pulling the covers over the both of you. “Don’t mention it.”

You close your eyes, gripping onto Chara and trying to focus on her instead to distract yourself from your other thoughts.

You honestly don’t know where you’d be if it wasn’t for her.

 

 

When you wake up, your thoughts are blissful and everything is calm.

For a little while.

You sit up and find yourself with the beginnings of a headache, and the images of what you had dreamt about last night come rushing back. You’ll have to figure out what to do about that today, you guess…

Your bed is empty. Chara’s gone; she left again.

That’s probably for the best. That way, maybe she actually got some sleep after having to console you. You’d hope so. But, for some reason, you feel like you would be feeling a lot better right now if you had woken up with her beside you…

Shaking that thought away, you begin to get up, but stop and recoil shock when you lock eyes with Flowey.

“Oh…” he tilts his head slightly, but not in the curious or confused way most people do, but rather in a more disappointed manner. “Good morning.”

You let out a relieved breath, getting out of bed. “It would be nice if you could like, I don’t know, say something when you come into the room like a normal person?”

You walk over to your dresser to brush out your hair whilst reminding yourself that you seriously need to stop being so easy to scare all the time.

But, that may not be possible, considering it’s become an instinct for you to be on guard all the time after you were attacked by pretty much everyone that you met in the Underground.

“And, before you say it, yes, I know you’re a plant and not a person, whatever,” you mutter to yourself, semi-satisfied with the job you did on your hair and putting the hairbrush back down, fixing uncooperative strands with your hands.

“Wow, and here I wasn’t even thinking about that.” You can see him looking at you through the mirror, watching you with an amused expression. “ _Someone_ didn’t get up on the right side of the bed today. Did you not get the answers you wanted last night?”

At the mention of that, you still, dropping your gaze to the ground. “...I don’t know what I wanted, to be honest. Certainly not this, but…” you sigh, looking back up at him through the reflection. “I needed to see it at some point. Mom can’t keep me sheltered like this forever, and it was important for me to know what’s going on, so…”

You turn around, leaning up against piece of dresser behind you and managing a tired smile at the growing surprise on Flowey’s face. “Thank you.”

He gawks at you, obviously not expecting that answer. So, you guess he did do that to stir things up. You _are_ slightly irritated about his intentions, but you also know it’s not his fault. And, it’s not like you’re flat out lying; it all worked out in the end. And, you have to admit, it does feel really nice to see that smug look off his face and replaced by one less spiteful. Although, his initial shock quickly morphs into disgust and annoyance, but you consider it a victory nonetheless.

“Anyway,” you say before he can continue the conversation down that route, not wanting to talk about it anymore, but pause because you don’t actually know where you’re going with this. You try and think of something that you could talk about, but the aching in your head flares up and your mind goes back to why you probably have a headache in the first place. Instantly you attempt to think of something else, trying to block out the pain you can still feel in your stomach and your shoulders, throwing random thoughts at yourself.

But, hold on, maybe that’s it. Flowey knows a lot about timelines and the like, right? Maybe… he’d even know the answers to all your questions. Maybe he’s a better alternative to Sans. After all, before you, he was the one who had the power to SAVE and RESET. You can’t believe you almost forgot about that. Possibly one of your biggest resources to solve all these issues has been right in front of you this whole time.

“Say…” you stand up straight, grabbing a pillow from your bed and setting it down in front of the windowsill that Flowey’s pot is on, almost giddily sitting on it, all the while he eyes you suspiciously. “I’ve been meaning to mention this, but… how much exactly do you know about the science of RESETs and timelines?”

“Depends,” he glances you up and down, “what do you want to know?”

You just about pour out all that you’ve been through the last few days with all this time stuff, but catch yourself and think over what you’re about to say. Just how much should you tell Flowey? What would he be able to use against you? _Would_ he use it against you? Most of it you don’t think you could tell without putting yourself at some sort of risk to be blackmailed or whatever he wanted to do with the information you give him. You guess you’ll just have to take your chances.

You decide to start with the nightmares, since that’s been the most recent.

“Lately, I’ve… been having dreams,” you begin, not really knowing where to start. Flowey cuts you off before you get a chance to elaborate.

“Yeah, it’s kind of a normal human thing.”

You roll your eyes. “You didn’t let me finish. I’ve been having dreams where I’m back in the Underground, but things are different. Like, bad different. Everything, everyone is… off. It’s not like anything that happened, but it’s so _real._ ”

You know that you’re being vague and avoiding the specifics, but from the fairly concerned look on Flowey’s face you think he knows where you’re going with this. You spell it out for him anyway, though, just in case. “I’m not myself. I don’t have any control of what I do. I just… watch myself do it, even if it’s something I really don’t want. I fight people that are my friends. Sometimes, they fight back. And, sometimes…” your hand automatically comes to your chest when you remember the image of the bone piercing through it, “...they kill me too.”

You rub the spot again before dropping your arm. Flowey isn’t looking at you. Listening, you’re sure, but he seems to be lost in thought.

“What I’m saying is,” you cross your legs, leaning on a table to your right, “I think maybe that they’re not just dreams. I know that there are other timelines, some that I don’t even remember. I think that, from what I’ve heard about these other timelines, that my ‘dreams’ are actually memories from them.”

He appears to ponder it, one of his leaves coming up and touching the bottom of his petals as if in contemplation, and it occurs to you that you’ve never really noticed how cute his mannerisms are. “It’s possible,” he mutters before going quiet again, and you take it as a chance to voice some of your questions.

“But, if that _is_ true… why am I remembering _now_?” you ask quietly, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought but at the same time ancy to get your questions answered.

“Good question,” he grumbles, and you get the sense that he’s just as stumped with this as you are. “I never had dreams about previous timelines, but then again, our situations are pretty different…”

“...Would Sans know?”

That breaks him out of his semi-trance, his beady eyes snapping back up to you questioningly. You lay your head back on the table behind you, staring up at the ceiling as you talk.

“You told me that you regularly spy on people, right?” It’s a rhetorical question, so you don’t give him time to answer. “I’m assuming one of those people would be Sans, if you don’t exclude anyone. So, by the information you’ve gathered from watching him...” you tilt your head to the side to look at him, “do you think that he’d know the answers to my questions?”

He doesn’t really consider it, replying almost instantly. “Huh, I doubt it. The trashbag is only concerned with stopping the RESETs.” You almost laugh a little at the nickname, recalling how much the two hate each other (if only Sans knew Flowey was on the Surface, too… oh, he wouldn’t be happy) but feel a pain of sadness and regret that distracts you. Sans is centered around fixing a problem that you had created, and even after your promise he still is second guessing you… Gosh, just how much did the RESETs affect him? “Besides, even if he did, what makes you think that he’d tell you?”

That makes you sit up. “What do you mean?”

“Like I said, he’s only concerned about stopping the RESETs. Anything that could potentially trigger one would be something he wouldn’t do.” He gives you a nonchalant leafy shrug, but you don’t feel that statement is nonchalant at all. Why would telling you about the RESETs possibly trigger one? “And, with everything that he’s keeping from you, do you really think he’d just dish out important information to you?”

You shift again, this time bringing your knees up and wrapping your arms around them, repeating his words. “Everything that he’s keeping from me…”

“I mean, yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. Is it? Sans has always been mysterious and there _is_ a lot that you don’t know about him. But you didn’t think that that was because he was trying to actively keep things from you. “It’s not a coincidence that he still hasn’t happened to tell you why you died in this timeline in the first place.”

You go still. He promised he’d tell you at some point. He _promised_ . The forbidden word Sans never uses unless he’s serious about following through with something. You knew that he wasn’t telling you _some_ things but you thought he’d at least tell you _that_ at some point.

_But maybe you shouldn’t be so trusting of your potential killer._

That thought chills you, and you quickly shake it away. You can’t be talking about trust when you were the one to start all of the RESET mess and put Sans through all of it in the first place. You have no clue what it was like for him. In the end, whether he killed you or not, it was probably warranted. It was—and still is—your fault.

Is he really not planning to ever tell you...?

“He _does_ know, though,” Flowey clarifies, which was unneeded, because you know Sans knows and he’s told you he has. This isn’t new information. Why would he bother telling you that he knew if he wasn’t planning on ever telling you the reason? Wouldn’t that just put him in a bad position?

“...Do you know?” you ask after a few paces of thoughtful quiet, trying to keep the hope out of your voice but ultimately failing. Flowey sighs, though, and you find that hope gone as quickly as it came.

“No, I don’t,” he admits, the word “don’t” seeming hard for him to say. And then, he adds in a quieter voice, “the stupid skeleton has been really secretive with that.”

Which, is probably another reason to be concerned.

There’s obviously something bigger going on here that Sans isn’t telling you, something that even Flowey has had trouble figuring out. And if he’s having to keep it from you, then it has to be something important.

“Is everybody hiding something big?” you think out loud, watching Flowey cringe slightly.

“Do you really want to know the answer to that?”

You fall silent again, giving a small shrug. Figures.

If Sans is hiding such a significant thing from you, who knows what else everyone else is keeping to themselves. You’re feeling like spilling your own secrets again, even just to learn what else everyone is hiding from you. There has to be something behind all of this.

You guess you could try to go to Sans and confront him, but if he hasn’t told you so far and he doesn’t want to, you doubt you could get the information out of him. You don’t know if it would even be worth a try. There’s also the possibility that it’s something better left unknown for you, that whatever happened could change you or scar you, but as you just learned last night, even if something has the potential to hurt you, it’s better that you know than be ignorant.

How else do you go about this?

You’d rather not get Chara involved, even if she is your best friend and your partner. Your other half. That’s one of the reasons, though; you care too much for her to have to get hurt more because of you. And at this point, you’re considering the reason behind your death that Chara already had to save you from fairly dangerous.

But, could it be possible that she could know something? Considering that she was the one who saved you?

You guess you could talk to her about it later, but you feel like if she did maybe she would’ve told you already. Either way, you’d still rather not give her direct involvement. This is your mess to clean up, not hers.  

But it isn’t something you want or think you could do alone, either.

Your eyes wander back up to Flowey, and you wonder absentmindedly if he would know an answer to your predicament. He doesn’t pay your stare any mind, probably thinking through issues of his own.

…

And then, everything connects for you. Again, you feel slightly stupid for taking such a long time to come to your senses, but you blame it on lack of sleep.

“Flowey,” you say, waiting until he looks at you, and then pushing yourself onto your knees and leaning towards him, “I have a proposition for you.”

He raises a brow at you. At least, it looks like it. As much as a flower could, anyway. “Proposition? Seems like a big word for someone of your intelligence. Can you spell it?”

You glare at him lightly but don’t falter, easily continuing. “I want you to make a deal with me.” You let the words sit for a little while before adding, “and keep it.”

He scowls at you, noticeably not liking the idea of commitment. “And why would I do that?”

“Because you get something out of it,” you answer without missing a beat, watching as he softens a bit at that. Good.

“Go for it, I guess.” With that, you can tell that he’s curious to some extent but trying not to show it, covering it up with his aloof nature like usual. “Doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll agree.”

“Alright.” You can work with that. You stand up, hoping to make a point, but bend down to his level so you’re not too far above him.

“How about this,” you take a deep breath for effect, taking a second to organize what you what to say before explaining to him, “you stick with me and help me get to the bottom of all of this timeline stuff. Why I’m having these dreams and what they mean, and the reason why I died at the beginning of this timeline. I know that you aren’t satisfied with just spying on people—everything gets boring after a while, right? And, this way, you’ll have something to occupy you for a while. So everything’s a little less boring.”

“That’s all?” he questions, and you think he’s referring to what you’re asking him to do and feel relieved, but then he goes on, “for all you know, I could be perfectly satisfied with my people-watching. That’s not really a deal and it would be stupid to agree to. I barely get anything out of that.”

You think what he does is a little more than just “people-watching”, but whatever, you’ll let that go for now in favor of getting him on your side.

“Again, you didn’t let me finish,” you watch the knowing, mocking expression fade from his features again and you’re tempted to make a snarky remark about him insistently cutting you off, but resist, burying your renewed satisfaction in favor of taking on a lot more of a serious tone. “If you do this for me, then I _promise_ you, Flowey, I will do everything in my power to get your soul back. Even if it hurts me, or… even if it takes my life.”

 _That_ catches him _completely_ off guard, and his eyes widen up at you, searching your face as if looking for signs of deception. It saddens you a bit that he immediately thinks you’re lying, but you understand why he’d be skeptical.

But, you keep your word. You guess it’s just something he’ll have to figure out. That’s fine. You’ll show him firsthand.

“You don’t even know if that’s _possible_ …!” he argues, and you have no rebuttal for that. He’s right. You have no _idea_ what you’re getting yourself into with this, who knows where you’ll end up, but if there’s even a possibility, a small, small chance that you can give Flowey— Asriel—his emotions back, his soul back, then you’ll do it.

“I don’t,” you agree glumly, wishing that there was a better answer, that you could ensure him that you could give him his life back, but not wanting to lie to him. “But, I have hope that it will. Even if we can’t get your old form back, we’ll give you some sort of soul. So, at the very least, you don’t have to suffer so much…”

You trail off, thinking maybe you shouldn’t have added that last part, knowing how much he hates pity. But, he doesn’t seem mad. He just looks… confused. Lost on to why you’re promising him so much. Which hurts probably even more than if he were to snap something at you.

“You deserve a chance, too, Flowey,” you say, reaching out and carefully brushing your fingers against his petals, “everyone does. But you more than most. I swear that _no matter what it takes_ I will give you some sort of semblance to the life you should’ve gotten in the first place.”  
And you mean that with all of your soul.

You’d trade your life in a heartbeat if it meant that Asriel would be able to be with all of you. You don’t care about the consequences for yourself. He deserves it more than you. And you just know how elated Chara would be if he would come back. It was originally supposed to be the two of them. Chara and Asriel. Since it would make both of them so happy— _everyone_ so happy; you can only imagine how happy Toriel and Asgore would be—then… it would be worth it.

“See it as a puzzle,” you try when he still doesn’t respond, “or… a challenge. One that has an exceptional reward for completion.”

Although, it doesn’t appear like he was considering rejecting your proposal; you’re actually fairly sure you’ve won him over entirely by now, but he’s just speechless. Well, that’s okay. It’s a lot better than some of the possible alternatives.

You place your hands on your knees, leaning some of your weight onto your legs, your back beginning to tire from bending down so long. “It’s up to you. What do you say, hm?”

He just stares at you, once again examining your face, his expression somewhere between frustration, shock, disbelief and acceptance. And then he looks away, like he couldn’t find what he was looking for, and that just spurs him on further.

“I _say_ that you’re a _stupid_ self-sacrificing _idiot_ ,” he hisses at you through clenched teeth, and you giggle lightly.

“Stupidest of the stupid,” you concur easily, straightening up a bit clasping your hands together, “so, is that yes, then?”  
He only growls at you. “I can’t _believe_ that you’re so quick to give up your life, after _everything_ that you’ve done, and for someone like _me._ You truly are an _idiotic fool._ ”

You only partially disagree. “Someone like you who _deserves_ it. And, I’m taking that as a yes.”

“ _Fine_ ,” he finally consents begrudgingly, “I’ll…” he glances down, appearing mad at himself for giving in to you, “I’ll help you.”

You beam as soon as the words are out of his mouth, leaning back down and wrapping your arms around his pot, to which he scoffs at. You ignore it, cuddling him as best as you can without hurting him or risking dropping his pot.

“But don't get the wrong idea! I’m only agreeing to this because it’s something to do and so you’ll get my soul back.” he protests into your shoulder, “It’s _not_ because I want to help you. _Got_ _it_?”

You pull back, but only far enough so you can see his face. It’s flushed, tinged with a little bit of… pink?

_Flowers can blush?_

“Sure,” you say, to which he snarls at you for. “You know, even if you didn’t agree, I’d still try and get your soul back. It’s been my plan from the start. Although, I wouldn’t agree to get hurt for you… so you really do need me for this, huh?”

You know that’s not true, regardless of if he had agreed you would’ve gone to the ends of the earth and cut off both of your legs if needed, but you need to keep him interested in staying in this deal with you, so you lie. And, you wanted to be able to tease him a bit more.

You laugh at the annoyed expression on his face but try to appease him, especially because of your close proximity. You’d prefer to _not_ get your face bitten off today. You lean back slightly, holding up your hand to him.

“What?”

“It’s a deal,” you gesture towards your hand, “we’re shaking on it.”

He glares at you.

“You’re _committing,_ ” you say slowly, wondering now if he even knows what that word means. And he was making fun of _you_ for “proposition”.

“Frisk, I don’t have _hands._ ”

You blink, shifting your weight back. “Well, _obviously_. Just give me, like… a vine?”

That is what they are, right? You’ve never really referred to them out loud.

Despite his sigh and signature eye roll, he slowly produces a small tendril and wraps it around your hand, to which you study for a moment, watching it curl around your fingers and noting how soft it feels against your skin before gently shaking it. He then retracts it and it’s buried back into the soil of the pot, and you tell yourself to ask about how all of that works at some point.

Smiling widely, you hold him still and press a light kiss to one of his petals. “Thank you, Flowey.”

And then, you pull back before he can hurt you, backpedaling a safe distance away and trying your best to repress your laughter from the look on his face.  

“We’ll start investigating soon!” you call playfully (you want to have time to work out a plan of how the two of you are going to accomplish this), giving him a swift wave before practically running out the door, not giving him any time to protest against your actions. Although, when the door is closed, you swear you hear him cursing at you from inside.

Is this the right way to go about this? You’re not sure, and you have no idea where it could go, but...

You’ll figure all of this out. You’ll fix everything. You’ll bring Asriel back.

You’re…

D E T E R M I N E D to.

You begin to go downstairs, your next plan to apologize to Chara for last night. You really need to get these nightmares worked out. Although you are very grateful for the comfort she provides, Chara shouldn’t have to deal with you every time you have them.

In the meantime, though, while you’re trying to figure out why you’re having them in the first place, you hope that they don’t become a daily occurence.

You halt your steps before walking into the kitchen when you hear hushed voices from inside. It sounds sort of like… arguing?

Curious, you lean closer, trying to focus on what’s being said. At first you think maybe it’s Chara and Toriel, which is strange enough considering you’ve never seen them argue, but then you hear the second voice and it’s _way_ too low to be Toriel.

It sounds sort of like…

“Look, I don’t _care_ what mother told you or why you’re here, she’s asleep and you’re not going to go bother her. Now, kindly _fuc—”_

You enter the room before Chara can finish her sentence, going silent as soon as you come into her line of sight.

And beside her is…

“mornin’, sweetheart.” Sans flashes you a lazy grin, standing up from the chair he was just sitting on. “how’re you holding up?”

_Out of all the days he could’ve done this—_

You swear you would’ve screamed if you hadn’t already guessed it was him who Chara was talking to just now. Just the sight of him sends your heart racing and causes your body to tense up, the images of your nightmare all too fresh in your mind. You unconsciously rub your chest, trying to compose yourself enough to interact with him. It’s not his fault that you had that nightmare. You shouldn’t take it out on him…

Chara glares at him, whether simply out of animosity or for the nickname he called you, you don’t know, lifting her hand that was just on the table as it was slammed onto it in her dispute with Sans and turning to you. You swallow, hoping you don’t look as scared as you feel.

“U-Um… hi Sans,” you stutter, mentally cursing at yourself for your pathetic attempt at putting on a brave face, “what, um… what are you doing here?”

“tori invited me.” He looks you over, concern growing in his voice, and you find yourself looking away, your fingers still clutching at your chest. In search for a distraction, you glance around the room for Toriel. You swear you had heard her voice earlier. “you okay there, kiddo?”

You force yourself to laugh, shoving your hand back down at your side. Unfortunately, though, it comes out strained and obviously fake, and you wonder if it would’ve been better if you just stayed quiet. “I’m fine! Just…” you say, maybe a bit too fast, lowering your voice, “tired.”

You’re feeling like running away at this point, out of the house, far away from Sans. Which makes you feel sad, because at the same time you want to be able to overcome your stupid fear and stay here with him and talk with him and hang out like you often daydream about. It’s stupid that you’re so worked up about a _dream_ , even if there _is_ a possibility it could’ve happened; it would’ve had to have been in a different time, one where you weren’t yourself, either, so you can’t fault Sans for being someone else as well. Now, you and Sans are both _completely different_ and he wouldn’t hurt you now.

...Right?

No, of… _of course_ he wouldn’t. He’s not like that. The both of you are opening up to each other, trusting each other, you care about him, he cares about you, you haven’t and you won’t do anything to warrant him to hurt you, he wouldn’t…

Maybe you just need time. Seeing him after you just woke up from that, when you can still remember the the pain and trying to reach for him and apologize as he killed you, it’s… you’re just still shaken up. And you need a little while to sort all of this out before you can be around him without freaking out.

You think you get that, but you still feel really bad about pretty much planning to run away from him like this. Maybe he’ll forget about it and pass it off as you’re just in a weird mood today…

But probably not. Sans is smarter than that. Knowing him, the next chance he gets he’ll very likely bring up your strange behavior. After you get some distance between the two of you, after you sort through your thoughts… will you be able to tell him? Would that be the right thing to do? Would he be mad at you for actions? Would you even have the courage to do it?

He deserves an explanation, though. You don’t want to lie to him.

“Frisk…”

Chara’s looking worried now, too, both of them evidently not buying your excuse or your bad acting (you should work on that), and you begin trying to think of actual reasons of why you’d have to leave. You hate making them so worried, and just running off after doesn’t make anything better, but you’d rather leave then stay and have some sort of freak out.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asks, stepping away from Sans and towards you. “Is it about last night?”

She whispers the last part so only you can hear, and you eventually nod, pointedly keeping your eyes away from Sans. She sighs, turning to him and crossing her arms.

“Frisk isn’t up to being around you right now,” Chara says sharply, and you wince a little at the bitterness of the statement. You don’t want Sans to have to feel bad about this when it’s not his fault. She turns back to you, but you can tell she’s still speaking to Sans when she says, “we’re leaving.”

And then she calls for Toriel, who comes in seconds later. “Is everything alr—oh, good morning, Frisk. Did you sleep well, my child?”

You have to keep yourself from cringing at that. You guess you’ll just lie. You don’t want to worry Toriel, too. “Yeah, I slept okay.”

“That is good,” she says, slumping a bit and smiling. Are you imagining it or does she seem relieved?

“Frisk and I are going out,” Chara announces, walking to your side, a little closer than normal. Sheepishly, you peek back at Sans, almost jumping when you meet his gaze dead on, but then end up feeling more guilty as his grin wavers, his expression one of concern and confusion.

You just can’t do anything right, can you?

“Oh, alright,” Toriel agrees easily, “that works out quite well, actually. Stay out for a few hours, will you?”

You give her a questioning look, looking to Chara for an explanation, but she seems just as clueless as you.

“Well, sure, but… is there a reason why?” Chara asks for the both of you, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she’s suspicious. You do admit, it is strange for Toriel to be so willing to let the two of you go out like this and _wanting_ you guys to stay out for a while, especially considering it’s early and you haven’t eaten yet and you’re not sure if Chara has either, but you don’t think it’s something to be _suspicious_ of.

“Sans and I have to… discuss a few things,” she replies as if it were a completely normal answer, heading over towards the table where Sans is leaning on one of the chairs pushed into it.

Okay, nevermind. You take it back. It’s suspicious.

“...Alright?” Chara appears unhappy with the answer as well, flashing Sans a threatening look. “Don’t try anything funny, comedian.”

He puts his hands up in mock surrender. “wasn’t planning on it, red.”

Sans has a nickname for pretty much everyone. You guess that’s the one he has for Chara.

It’s to annoy her, beyond doubt, and it works. She seems to debate whether or not to go after him but then decides against it, starting out of the room.

You know you’re supposed to follow, and despite your wish for an escape from this situation just a few seconds ago, you find yourself lingering by the doorway. Should you apologize to Sans? And also, what are him and Toriel going to talk about?

And why does she seem so excited about it?

After learning that Sans is hiding quite a few things, you’re not so easy to let something like this go. Although, it doesn’t really seem malicious to you, or related to something that he’s keeping from you, considering he’s talking to _Toriel—_ but, you guess, considering that now you know Toriel is also hiding things from you, maybe it is fairly questionable that they’re both talking about something that you and Chara aren’t supposed to know about—but that’s not what’s making you so uneasy. You wish it was, it would be something better to focus on than what’s actually bothering you.

You just…

Don’t like the idea of them being alone together.

It’s stupid and childish and incredibly selfish, but for some reason, you just… don’t. You don’t _think_ they’ll do anything, their relationship isn’t like that, but it’s like… you’re afraid that they’ll get closer or something. You don’t like the idea of Toriel and Sans spending time alone without you and without you knowing what they’re talking about or doing. You _especially_ don’t like it when you’re so afraid of Sans and unable to spend time with him, while Toriel can easily just sit and joke and laugh with him like you really, _really_ want to do.

You’re envious of her.

It’s not fair that they can be so close without any troubles like you and Sans have. They can just _be happy,_ be _normal_. Neither of them have to worry about killing another in a different timeline, or about one of them resetting the timeline and ripping away everyone’s happy ending. They can easily be with each other.

It’s not _fair._

Toriel doesn’t care for Sans the way you do (you would _think_? You _sure hope_ _not_ ), and yet she’s able to freely be with him without any of the complications that you two have. She’s not even thankful for that ability. She doesn’t have to be.

But because of that, because of the way their relationship is in the first place…

You should stop thinking about this.

There’s nothing going on between them. They’re just friends. Toriel is your mother. Sans is your close friend, not… a parental figure. There’s no way that something like that could happen.

 _Except that Sans is sort of a father figure to you,_ and you know that and you don’t really have a problem with it otherwise, but that doesn’t make him in that sort of position with Toriel.

They’re _just friends._

_Just like you and Sans._

And that’s right, you and Sans are _just friends._ Why are you getting so worked up about this? You have no place to be, you and Sans are nothing more than friends albeit close ones, you shouldn’t be jealous of him like this.

There’s no reason to be, anyway. Because there is and there won’t be anything going on between them.

You make it a point to hurry up and get over yourself so you can start spending time with Sans and developing your relationship again.

Toriel calls goodbye after you and Chara, and you force yourself to follow her and leave. There’s nothing left for you to do. You’ve been wanting to get out of here and you should take your chance. But, before you can even get out of the room, Sans approaches you and puts his hand on your shoulder.

The contact makes you jump, quickly backing away from him and into the wall behind you. You instantly regret your actions, the flash of rejection on Sans’s face and his slowly lowering hand that he immediately takes off your shoulder as soon as you leap back enough to make your heart hurt. The both of you look at each other, you mentally apologizing to him and hoping he can understand, and him studying you carefully.

_Bones in your chest. Bones in your shoulders. A bone in your stomach._

_Blood, pain, being pinned down. Struggling. Crying. Reaching out and trying to apologize but not being able to._

_The grin on his face while killing you._

You quickly shake your thoughts away, repressing a wave of nausea and beginning to back out of the room.

“U-Um, I’m going to go with Chara now…” you whisper, grasping at the doorway to make sure you don’t fall.

“alright. if it’ll get you to stop shaking so bad.”

You swiftly tuck your trembling hands into your sweater, looking away. He’s onto you.

“I-I’m sorry, S-Sans,” you hesitate a second longer, sending him an apologetic glance and then hurriedly turning away, not being able to look at his concerned expression anymore, giving a quiet “goodbye” and rushing to Chara as fast as you can without running.

“Let’s go,” you tell her, not even trying to act cheerful anymore.

In response, she opens the door for you, placing her hand on your lower back as you step out of the house.

“Stupid comedian.”

She mutters it under her breath, probably not meant for you to hear it, but you still catch it. Normally it would’ve cheered you up slightly, their hateful relationship sort of laughable to you when they’re not at each other’s throats, but right now, you’d rather think of anything than Sans and what just happened.

Chara closes the door behind you, and you wait, following behind her. You actually have no clue what the two of you are doing.

“I don’t know what the hell he’s planning, but if it’s something stupid I’m going to kick his ass,” she mutters, and that at least gets a slight smile out of you.

“Hopefully nothing. Maybe they’re just like… talking about boring adult stuff.” You frown thinking back to the fact that it’s Toriel and Sans all alone talking about things that you can’t know about, and you really, _really_ hope that you’re right or it’s something along those lines. Tired of worrying yourself over it, you change the subject. “Where are we going?”

“...Honestly, I don’t know,” Chara admits, but still continues walking. “I just wanted to get you away from the comedian, since you were obviously really uncomfortable. And, apparently, mom wants to get us out of the house too, so…” She shrugs. “It’s fine. We’ll figure out something. I used to have to entertain myself outside all the time when I was little.”

Her face becomes distant for a moment, and knowing that Chara has some sort of traumatic past, you don’t think that was from her own choice.

You frown, planning to comment on it, but she goes to something else before you get the chance. Possibly on purpose. “But, now that it’s just the two of us...”

She stops in front of you, and you quickly stop too. “Be honest, Frisk. There’s something bother you, isn’t there?”

You probably should’ve expected this. You were way too jumpy back there. You’ve never been the best at hiding your fear. No point in lying now.

“...Yeah.”

You know she’s asking, but you still debate on whether or not to tell her. Or, _what_ to tell her. She already knows that you’re having nightmares, and that they’re gruesome and possibly from previous timelines, but you didn’t go into specific details. If she finds out that Sans could’ve hurt you at some point, there’s no doubt she’d go after him. Maybe you could just… leave out the fact that it was him?

“You had a dream about Sans, didn’t you?”

_What—_

You jolt a little, gaping at her, too startled to reply. You don’t have to, though, because she understands your reaction as a yes, beginning to walk again.

“It was bad, wasn’t it.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

“Yeah.”

She sighs, and you can’t tell if she’s mad or if she feels sorry for you. “You were really worked up last night, and the way you acted so wary of Sans, like he was going to hurt you, led me to believe it was about him,” she explains, her eyes flashing dangerously. “You know that I’d never let him hurt you, right?”

You smile a little at that. “I know, Chara.”

She smiles too. “So, don’t worry too much, okay? You have me to protect you.” She pats your head affectionately, and all you can think of is how much of a big sister type she is. You avert your eyes in embarrassment. “But, if you want to spend less time with him and more with me, I’m definitely all for it.”

You playfully nudge her. “I mean, I’d spend every waking minute with you if I had the chance.”  
She’s slightly flustered by this, a tint of pink growing on her cheeks that isn’t from the cold. She tries not to show it though, turning her head so her hair falls over her face, and you cover your mouth as to not openly laugh.

_That was cute._

Despite her personality, she really does some pretty cute things.

You’re honestly just glad not to be talking about your dream anymore. It’s funny, you were so scared and stressed only a mere few minutes ago, and now you’re smiling and joking and you feel mostly at ease. Chara’s always cheering you up, isn’t she?

The two of you walk out of the driveway, and begin down the block before Chara starts slowing her pace.

“Hmm…” she folds her hands behind her back, glancing at you. “Do you feel like going and doing something, or do you want to stay here?” She pauses, and then adds, “Perhaps I should rephrase that; do you feel like dealing with press and paparazzi or not?”

The thought of having to be around other people _—_ being _swarmed_ by other people _—_ doesn’t sound at all pleasant at the moment. If you did happen to actually go out somewhere, like out of the neighborhood and into the city, there’d be a chance that, even besides press and paparazzi like Chara mentioned, you could also have to deal with people who don’t like you and what you stand for. Which, hasn’t happened in person yet, and you would rather today _not_ be the first day that happens. You don’t think you have the energy for that.

“Not really,” you answer truthfully. “But what could we do around here?”

“Oh, come on. There’s plenty of things to do!” she exclaims sarcastically. “Like…” she glances around, “...climbing trees?”

It sounds like that’s the only thing she can come up with, and it’s more of a joke than an actual suggestion, but it actually interests you even if it wasn’t supposed to.

“I’ve never climbed a tree before,” you confess, prompting Chara to look at you like you’re crazy.

“Seriously?” You nod. She clicks her tongue in disapproval. “My, youth these days.”

You stick your tongue out at her. Technically, Chara shouldn’t be _that_ much older than you. Physically, at least. Even if she does have a more than few years on you from being dead, you also have the years from RESETs, so she can’t be saying that sort of thing to you. She begins to speed up, motioning for you to follow. “Okay, I was joking before, but now we’re definitely climbing a tree. Come on.”

You increase your pace to match hers. Well, okay. It’s something to do, you guess. There’s a first time for everything.

You didn’t even know it was abnormal to not have climbed a tree before. Is that something kids normally do? Is it like… a friend activity? You never really had many friends when you were younger—well, you guess that’s not true. You _did_ have a lot of friends, but you think a more accurate word would be acquaintances. You called them your friends, sure, and you guess they could be considered that by definition, but you didn’t really _know_ any of them. You didn’t really hang out. You talked sometimes in school, but it was rare for you to see them outside of it. You were invited to a few parties once, but that was about it. You didn’t go to a lot of them, anyway, and you think you just slowly stopped being invited.

Thinking back on it, you were really just “friends” with those people out of convenience. You cared about them as people (you had a genuine care about their wellbeing, but you think that’s just a normal human trait) but did you _really_ care about _them_? You didn’t truly know any of them. You’ve always been a mostly reserved and quiet person; you didn’t talk that much. Most of them didn’t know that much about you, either.

Did _they_ care about _you_?

If you happened to meet any of them now, would things be different? Do they ever think about you? Do they know who are you are now, remember you, and brag to others about how they used to be friends with you? Do they exaggerate their relationship with you for that reason?

Anyone who you associated with before you fell…

Do any of them still care?

“Here,” Chara says, resting against a good sized evergreen tree. “Come here. I’ll show you how.”

You guess…

None of it matters anymore.

In any case, you have better people with you now. People who you know care about you. And who you care about too. People who you have a connection with.

“Okay,” you agree, walking over behind Chara. “Lead the way.”

This is all you need.

* * *

“It’s really not that hard,” you tell Frisk, pushing yourself off the tree and landing on the ground in front of her. “You just grab a branch and pull yourself up. All you have to worry about is making sure you have something to stand on.”

You had just demonstrated for her, going up midway before coming back down again. You couldn’t believe that she hasn’t done this before; every other child you knew had climbed a tree before. But, from what you’ve seen from Frisk so far, you don’t think that her childhood was like everyone else’s.

She pouts at you childishly. “How are you so good at everything?”

You laugh. “I’m not, really. Trust me. Come on, I swear it’s easy once you get the hang of it.”

It warms your heart that she thinks of you so highly, though.

She looks nervous, but steps forward and eyes the branch you had pulled yourself into the tree on anyway. “Okay…”

“If you go first, I can catch you if you fall,” you explain, watching as she reaches for the limb and begins pulling herself up. Otherwise, you would go before her so you could show her where to go, but you feel safer doing this.

“I won’t fall,” she claims, struggling to even get onto the tree, “...I hope.”

You shake your head, but still get underneath her and gently grab her waist, pushing her upwards. “It’s fine. I’ll catch you,” you assure her, smiling when, with your help, she gets both feet onto the branch. “Look, you did it!”

She tilts her head down slightly, and then turns to look at you, a small but victorious grin on her face. “Huh. I guess I did…”

“Now, grab the one above you to your right. Keep going. I’ll be right behind you.”

In response, she slowly gets into a standing position and grabs another branch. You wait until she gets a little further up before getting up yourself, still afraid she may fall and telling her to stop until you get up with her.

She sits on a branch and waits patiently for you, observing you as you easily reach her in much shorter time period. She looks impressed, which you note silently with satisfaction. And then, blankly, she waves at you.

You mock glare at her before continuing up to find a more comfortable place to idle.

“Hey, don’t leave me down here!” You hear shifting below you, and you know she’s following.

“Hurry up then,” you reply curtly, but still frequently glance down at her to make sure she’s okay.

“See, this isn’t so bad, is it?” you call after noticing her starting to increase her pace,  nearing the top of the tree. There’s a huff beneath you.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re literally a pro at this.”

You stop to look at her. “But, you’re having fun, aren’t you?”

She rests at a spot a few branches below you. “Yeah. I guess,” she folds her arm over a limb and lies her head on it. “But only because it’s with you.”

You instantly turn your back on her and keep going. “If you don’t cut down on the flirting I swear I’ll push you off this tree.”

All you hear back is giggling, and you know Frisk knows that you would never be able to do something like that, but she doesn’t call you on your bluff, probably too preoccupied with catching up with you. She knows the way you act is all just a front. She always continues to constantly shower you with affection despite you saying you don’t want it. She knows you do. And maybe that’s what makes your relationship work so well.

“How are you so good at this, anyway?” Frisk asks, and that makes you hesitate for a second, your grip on the bark you’re holding onto tightening. She must be closer than you thought she was, because she notices your tense reaction and backtracks. “I’m sorry… you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

It’s tempting, but you think after all that Frisk’s done for you that she deserves to know some of your past. You did promise you’d tell her at some point, and what better of a a time to start while you’re both climbing a tree together?

“I used to climb trees to hide from… bad people,” you answer instead, and then go up another level, trying to fill the silence. “It was like my safe place. Either no one would know where I was, or they wouldn’t want to come up and get me. As long as I was up high, no one would bother me. No one could hurt me.”

The noises from Frisk’s movement stops. “I’m sorry, Chara.”

“Don’t be.” You reach the closest you can get to the peak of the tree and find a sturdy branch to sit on and wait for Frisk. “Everything’s alright now.”

For some reason, when you say that, you feel lighter. Maybe it’s because it makes you think about it and how true that statement really is. Climbing trees used to be like an escape for you, a place to hide. It wasn’t something happy. But here you are now, doing it for fun and with Frisk, and no one’s trying to hurt you anymore.

Everything’s better. Everything’s... okay.

And that’s all thanks to Frisk, isn’t it?

You flinch and let out a small noise of surprise when arms are suddenly wrapped around your waist. You turn to see Frisk looking up at you with sad but caring eyes, pressing her face into your back. You feel your face warm up and you instantly jerk your head away, sighing in annoyance. At that, Frisk quickly pulls away, probably thinking that she’s crossed a boundary even though the two of you had literally cuddled yesterday, and you almost reach down and push her back to where she was.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, and from the sound of it, backs away from you. You shake your head, forcing yourself to look at her again and begin testing branches below you to see if they can support your weight with your foot.

“That’s not it,” you push yourself off and change your direction to her. She furrows her eyebrows in confusion. “if you’re going to hug me, do it properly.”

She brightens a little at this, and you start trying to get to where she is and drop down a branch, but as soon as your feet come in contact with it, there’s an audible _snap_.

_Fuck._

You stumble and begin to fall, trying to reach out and grab something to hold onto, but you’re too slow. You’re _way_ too far off the ground to land without any injuries. There’s also the fact that you have your pocketknife in your backpocket, and if you fall backwards like this, there’s a chance that it could hurt you. Which, would only add to large set of injuries you’re going to have after this. You brace for pain. You just hope mom isn’t too mad and Frisk isn’t too worried. So much for being the older and responsible one here.

But then…

You stop falling.

Your hand is tightly gripped in another.

Frisk is holding onto you.

She saved you from falling.

You blink rapidly a couple of times, staring at her with wide eyes. How did she do that? She was quite a few branches away from you, and she would’ve had to down a few to have gotten to you before you fell completely. Her expression is a mix of relief and fading fear, an odd mix, but then she smiles and it’s just relief.

“Caught you,” she whispers, a small breeze picking up and blowing a few strands of her hair away and behind her, causing sunlight to wash over her face and illuminate it in such a way that, from how she’s standing, holding her hand out to you against the backdrop of the bright morning sky, she looks angelic. Like a divine being, almost. For a second, you swear that you can see the outline of a halo above her head and wings spreading from her back.

Your heart skips a beat.

It takes a second, but after getting over the shock of almost falling but somehow being caught by Frisk, you’re reminded that time exists and you’ve been holding onto her for some time now. Knowing how small and physically weak she is, she shouldn’t be able to support your weight for very long. You hurriedly get steady on your feet again and lift yourself onto her branch, pushing your back against the trunk of the tree and catching your breath. You’ve mostly recovered from the almost fall—that’s not what shook you so badly. No, it was something else entirely.

That feeling in your chest…

That sweet smile of hers, the way she was so quick to risk own safety for yours and caught you so swiftly…

It left you breathless.

You want to thank her, it would be the right thing to do after she caught you like that and could’ve gotten hurt herself—she probably did, actually; there’s a good chance that she got nicked by a twig or something of that sort—but you also want to reprimand her, the colder and more embarrassed side of you wanting to call her stupid for so easily willing to get hurt for _you_. If this happened to be a more dangerous situation and she put herself on the line for you, she could be seriously hurt. You’re not going to let that happen in the future.

“I didn’t always use to be this way, you know,” Frisk confesses suddenly, and anything you were going to say is forgotten. She’s not looking at you, her eyes sweeping over the land below the both of you. You understand what she’s trying to do.

“Frisk, you don’t have to…”

“You told me something about you, so it’s only fair, right?” She spares you a glance before returning it to the scenery. “Besides, it’s okay.”

You shift to get more comfortable, awaiting her response. You suppose if she wants to that it’s fine. You can’t say you aren’t interested. But you also understand how hard it is to share things that happened to you in your past.

“I used to never let myself care about anyone. Not for too long, at least,” she begins, and you find yourself slightly surprised. You didn’t expect her to go down this sort of route. “It was one person and then on to the next. I didn’t want to get attached. Because everyone hurts you in the end, right? They hurt you or they leave. Whether they mean to or not...” She stares out for a little longer, her face purposefully blank and unreadable. It sounds familiar. A lot like how you used to be. And… maybe how you still are. Frisk finally lifts her head up and looks to you, but now there’s a somber but curious look in her eyes. “That’s how you are, right? You’re afraid of getting hurt because you’ve been hurt so many times and so you don’t even take the chance at all.”

You stay silent, unable to answer that. It’s true, obviously, and you think Frisk knows it, because she goes on as if she wasn’t expecting a reply.

“But, I… realized something,” she turns away from you again, her voice softening. “Doing that, isolating myself, never opening up to anyone, never trusting… even if it was to protect myself, I was also preventing myself from experiencing the good things. It eventually became too much for me to bare, and I ended up confiding in someone who I thought I could trust, but…” she trails off, and her face darkens. You make a note of that and to ask about what happened later so you can hunt whoever hurt her down and fuck them up. “The point is, when I did that, though, even if they ended up betraying me in the end… I experienced care. Love, affection. Happiness. Good things. And I realized, despite the risks, it was worth it. It was worth potentially getting hurt because you need the bad for the good. It was scary, terrifying even, but it was so much more fulfilling to take the risk than to never experience the good.”

To you, trusting people fully has become a foreign concept. The idea Frisk is talking about isn’t, however. You’ve thought about it many times, whether or not it was worth getting hurt if you got to have good memories with someone. But, what’s the point, if you both end up going separate ways? Wouldn’t it have just been a waste of time? Good memories are only valuable if the person is still around to make more with. Good memories are only good if the person didn’t betray you in the end. If they didn’t leave you or hurt you. If you keep letting your guard down, if you keep trusting people only to let them hurt you in the end… that’s stupid, isn’t it? It’s not learning from your mistakes. It’s doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. People aren’t good. People don’t change. They only care about themselves. And if you keep getting hurt, one day you’re going to break. You can still get your dose of affection from people without trusting them. A much easier way would be manipulation. Taking what you want and then leaving.

It’s so much better to be alone.

And the fact that this person, this tiny human girl, is so willing to let herself get hurt for some simple praises or meaningless smiles or brief hugs or the temporary gratification of doing something nice for someone else that she seems to get, is absolutely absurd to you.

But, you’ve been over this before, haven’t you? Quite a few times before. You know that Frisk is crazy, her forgiveness has no bounds, that the amount of goodwill she possesses for others is incomprehensible, and that she’s an outlier. She’s different from other humans. But you still find yourself amazed by her, once again. Blown away by how she continues to stay optimistic, full of hope and trust, even after she’s been beaten down so many times because of it.

You want to say that you trust _her,_ because she’s proven herself to be worthy of it. She’s proven herself to be different. And that’s all you need. She’s the only one you need to trust. The amount of care and affection she gives to you is something that you can barely keep with on its own. It’s more than you asked for. You trust Frisk.

But that’s not entirely true, is it?

You haven’t actually let her in. If you really trusted her, than you wouldn’t be so afraid to…

You still can’t even admit it to yourself now, can you?

“I know that you didn’t have a good life on the surface before you fell.” Frisk swings her leg over the branch so she’s face to face with you. “I don’t know exactly what happened yet, but it had to have been really, _really_ terrible. For you to be so distrusting of other people…” she sighs. “I… can’t undo any of that. I know that now.” Despite the way she says that, like she’s accepting a defeat, she quickly becomes perks up again. “But… I _can_ make this time better. We can make new memories, and replace the old ones. It doesn’t have to be like last time. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.

“And…” she takes a deep breath, and then looks you dead in the eye with an unusual intensity that you don’t think you’ve ever seen on her before. “I’m here for you. Always. Just like you’ve done for me, I’ll support you. When you can’t do it go on on your own, you can lean on me. You can rely on me. No matter what, I’ll protect you.”

You’re unable to speak for a second, completely stunned and taken by surprise. And then, you laugh.

Not because you’re trying to mock her, but because there’s a lump developing in your throat and you can feel your resolve slowly cracking and you really, really want to let yourself break, but you can’t do that just yet. Not when you don’t know something for certain.

“ _Look_ at you,” you speak softly, partially out of awe and partially because your voice feels unsteady, “you’re telling the truth, aren’t you? You’re going to protect me, even though you’re tiny and you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

She begins to nod, but then your words sink in and she objects. “Wait, that’s not true! When it comes down to it, if I had to hurt someone to protect you… I would.”

There’s that feeling in your chest again, and you smile, grabbing the branch and leaning over it to ruffle her hair. “You, dear, are just _adorable._ You’d... do just about anything for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would,” she replies instantly, absolutely no hesitation, and begins to say something but stops and swats at your hand when you start messing up her hair, “h-hey! Stop it! I’m being serious, you know!”

At the same time, she titters lightly, and you do as well, pulling your hand away and dropping it back into your lap. Silence befalls the both of you, and your smile fades away, a question that you’ve been meaning to ask for a while now coming to the forefront of your mind.

“...Why do you care about me so much?” you ask her seriously, getting a surprised look from Frisk. You’ve never found the answer. It just doesn’t make any sense. At first, you tried to pass off her devotion and care to you as just her niceness, and genuine care for other people. But, as time has gone on, that’s been disproven, as she’s still stuck with you, and continued to openly care for you. Even though you’re such a difficult person to care for, even though you’re pretty much the complete opposite of her, even though (as far as she knows, at least) you’ll probably never be able to return the affection she gives to you in the way you think she wants, she cares for you.

So, why?

Why does someone like her waste her time liking someone like you?

“God, Chara, where do I even start,” there’s a quiet where she tries to think of what to say, and you feel apprehensive in the silence, carefully examining her face for any signs of distaste for you. But then, after taking a long inhale, she begins speaking to you confidently. “There’s so, so many reasons. You’re an amazing person, Chara. You have so many talents, and you’re so strong. Physically and mentally. You could do anything if you put your mind to it. You’re smart, and you’re actually really funny. You’re beautiful, inside and out. You’re just so… interesting. You’ve always been there for me, you’ve helped me so much and you’re so important to me. You deserve to have someone who does the same for you. You’re… you’re my partner, Chara. I know you in ways no one else would understand. I just want to see you happy.”

Maybe that’s not the exact answer you were looking for, but dammit is it good enough.

“I don’t deserve this,” you breathe, “not after what I did. I don’t deserve a care like that from anyone. Especially not you.”

She shakes her head insistently. “That isn’t true, Chara. It wasn’t your fault. After what happened to you, anyone would react badly. Everyone deserves to be cared about. Everyone deserves a second chance. You do too.”

She’s told you this before. But you can’t ever believe it. But maybe if she continues to repeat it to you, one day you will.

You…

You’re still scared. Deep down you’re still afraid that somehow it isn’t going to work out with you and Frisk, and you’re going to end up hurt even if she doesn’t intend to hurt you. You’re still hesitant to put full trust in her. You still don’t want to let her in. You already care about her so much and if you do you’re afraid that if you lose her, if something happens, it’s going to completely wreck you. You still can’t admit to yourself what you know is true.

But, for some reason, _you want to._ You want to trust her. You want to let her in. You want to believe. You want to see where this goes, because _what if_ it goes well? You… think you want this. You want her.

“You mean it? Your care for me is genuine? You’ll let me rely on you? You’ll protect me? You won’t hurt me?” you relay her words back to her, now feeling desperate to find out that she’s for sure telling the truth. “You’ll keep your promise? You’ll really stay with me?”  
You’re lost in every fear, every doubt, every time you trusted someone and they betrayed you, every bad experience you’ve had, drowning in the darkness that’s accumulated inside of you in the years, and Frisk is your light, your hope, your lifeline, holding her hand out and offering to drive it all away, to save you, to let you breathe again.

_This is going to end terribly. Whether she means to or not, she’s going to hurt you. That’s just how humans are._

_You don’t deserve this._

_You’re going to mess this up. You’re going to taint her. You’re going to force her down to your level and make her like you._

_She’s far too trusting. Too young and naive. She has to learn at one point or another that she can’t trust others so easily. There’s no way she can be this way and not at some point get herself hurt. You can’t protect her forever. You should be the one to teach her before it happens._

_She can’t handle you. You have too many problems for her to deal with. Especially when she has her own._

_Everyone that you’ve ever trusted before has betrayed you. Even the ones you thought were different. Even if she seems different, there’s no possible way she can be. She’s a human. It’s just human nature._

_After everything that you’ve done to be here, on the surface, with your family, you can’t mess this up. You can’t ruin it._

_This is going to get you hurt._

_This could destroy you._

But…

You’re reaching out, trying to grasp her.

“I mean it.” She leans forward on her hands that are grasping the branch beneath her. “I’ll never hurt you. I’ll always be by your side. I’ll never give up on you. Even if you push me away. Even if you hurt me. I won’t _ever_ leave you.”

This could be your second chance. She could be your second chance.

You could nurture that hope and light in her eyes that’s so rare to come by. You could protect it. You could make sure she makes it in the end. You could really protect her. She could be different.

This could be different.

 _It was so much more fulfilling to take the risk than to never experience the good,_ she said. Is that true? Don’t you want to experience the good? Would you regret it if you never did?

Only one way to find out, you suppose.

“Chara.” She smiles, but it’s not like the carefree smile that you often see her wear. It’s knowing and confident. It’s determined. “I’m going to bring Asriel back. No matter what it takes, I’m going to get him back to you. I’m going to get us all a proper happy ending where everyone is saved. Where everyone is okay. Where everyone is happy. I swear on my life. I _promise_. No one is going to be left behind this time.”

She really means it, doesn’t she? She’s being honest.

You’re reaching out, trying to grasp her.

You want to feel the light. You want to be saved. You want to breathe again.

_...Okay._

You take her hand.

_I trust you._

At that moment, you’re overwhelmed with every single emotion you’ve been suppressing, a realization that’s been trying to make itself known to you for far too long now suddenly dawning on you.

Without warning, you lunge forward and grab her, taking her into your arms and hugging her tightly.

“Ch-Chara?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have it in you to.

How long has it been since you felt like this?

No, you know the answer to that—never. You’ve never felt like this before in your entire life.

Maybe that’s why it’s taken you so long to terms with it.

Now that you’ve finally put your full trust in her, that you’ve acknowledged the risk and accepted it in order to let yourself finally fully care about someone, you can’t deny it to yourself anymore.

Everything makes perfect sense now.

Why you’re so drawn to Frisk. Why you want to be a good person for her. Why you’re so protective and possessive of her. Why you’re so afraid someone’s going to take her away from you. Why you love seeing her smile. Why her happiness makes you happy. Why you’ve been tempted to watch her sleep. Why you hate Sans being around her. Why you hate him making her laugh. Why you’ve been so scared. Why you’ve wanted so badly to touch her, to kiss her. Why she makes you so flustered. Why you’ve been acting the way you are. It all makes sense.

You bury your face into her hair, gripping onto her like your life depended on it. It feels like it does. You’re collapsing in on yourself and she’s the only keeping you from completely falling apart.

“It’s alright, Chara,” Frisk says quietly, her tone calm and self-assured, lying her head onto your shoulder and moving so she can hug you back. “Everything is going to be alright this time.”

Will it?

A happy ending, where everyone is okay. Where everyone is happy. Where no one is left behind.

Do such things exist? Is it really something that you and Frisk can get?

Is it possible for you to be happy long term?

The logical part of you says no. The logical part is telling you to run far, far away from here and crush your feelings because this is going to end badly.

But, you’ve never been good at listening.

You’re far too worn down to keep running from this.

How did this happen? How did you let it? You don’t know. Maybe, secretly, you’ve wanted it all along. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

You don’t know how this will end. You don’t know if it’ll be worth it. You have no idea what’s going to happen.

But...

You want to find out where this leads. If you can be happy. You don’t want to be left behind.

You want to find out if you and Frisk can have a future together.

You’re completely sure. This is what you want.

In the end, all that matters is Frisk. And, if she promises to never leave you and never hurt you no matter what happens, and if you trust her, if you believe her, then…

Then it’ll be okay. Even if things go bad. Because she’ll still be there. You’ll still have her. You’ll still have a chance. That’s all that matters.

You aren’t ready for this. Not in any way shape or form. You’re still afraid, you’re still terrified, but you have Frisk.

It’s time for you to finally face what you’ve been running away from for so long.

You don’t know how long you’ve felt like this. You’ve been denying it to yourself for so long that it just became something you’d do automatically. You’d never even consider it. But, you know that it’s been a while. Too long to be just a crush or an infatuation.

This feeling, the explanation behind everything, it’s all because…

“Yes,” you breathe, smiling despite the familiar dampness in your eyes. You close them. “I know it will.”

You’re head-over-heels completely in love with Frisk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> true romantic affection towards someone, Chara's real weakness  
> honestly, i sort of see the whole Chara falling and Frisk catching her as a good metaphor for their relationship but. interpret that how you want  
> anyways. i hope everyone enjoyed all the fluff and stuff, because it's Suffering Time now =))  
> ...after an obligatory christmas chapter though of course oops  
> hopefully i'll be able to get that out on time?? idk i'm on break after tomorrow so it'll be fine i think. but thanks to everyone who's reading! i hope everyone who had them did good on your finals, i know i didn't lmao. see all of you soon~  
> 


	17. First Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You did it. You finally admitted it to yourself. You’re in love with Frisk.
> 
> Wait, you’re in love with Frisk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll post-op is wild. i just spent ten minutes trying to get an undissolved stitch out of my back, but because it hurt too much to try to pull it out, i had to cut it down with scissors and hope that i didn't hurt myself. wild.  
> mm so i know that i'm getting this out late af but heyyyyy i mean better late than never. i sorta rushed to finish this since i was already late, which is why it's short, but i'll come back and mess with it more later. it's mostly fluff but there's some plot. the next chapter should be more eventful than this one, as this was sort of just a special thing i wanted to write.  
> ((disclaimer: i don't own any songs i used in here pls don't sue thx))  
> happy holidays, everyone!
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in chara's pov.

You’re head-over-heels completely in love with Frisk.

You did it. You finally admitted it to yourself. You’re in love with Frisk.

Wait, you’re in love with Frisk. You’re _seriously_ in love with Frisk. Stupid, embarrassing, movie, television show love. The kind of love people write books about.

_You’re in love with Frisk._

_What what what what what what what—_

You’re in _love._ You _love_ her. _Romantically._

Oh, god. What the fuck. What. The. Fuck.

Well, now what?

You can’t just _tell_ her. That would be stupid. You don’t know how _she_ feels, _you don’t even know if she likes girls—_

Hold on, do _you_ like girls?

This is just getting more and more confusing. You thought you didn’t like anyone. You thought you _couldn’t_ love people, much less _fall in love._ Romantic love isn’t something you’ve been capable of, nor interested in. You hate humans. You haven’t ever been attracted to anyone in that way.

But, here you are now, so _in love_ with Frisk in every way possible. Romantically, plantonicly, and just as a person. You love her.

_How…?_

You can’t see yourself with _anyone else._ Not a monster and especially not a human. You can’t see yourself loving someone, not romantically, not in the way you love Frisk. You suppose that you’ve always preferred human females to males, but you’ve never _loved_ any of them. You aren’t actively attracted to either gender. The thought of touching anyone else like you want to touch Frisk disgusts you, and the thought of them touching you the way she does disgusts you. You don’t want to kiss anyone, get married to anyone, _fuck_ anyone…

But Frisk.

Jesus Christ, this is seriously the real, complete deal. Not only do you love her, but you want to fuck her as well. Great.

Now that you’re thinking about this, you actually have had a rather strong lust for her. In the beginning, it was easy to pass it off as just a yearning for touch after you had gone without it so long, but now there’s a whole new and different meaning to it…

What are you supposed to do…?

It’s going to be hard to pretend that everything’s normal now that you’re aware of your feelings. But it’s not like you have many options here. Telling Frisk is completely off the table for now. But… you don’t want to hide this forever. You want to express how you feel, you don’t want to keep all of this love and passion to yourself. It’s too much to. She’s the first person that you’ve ever felt this way about. You want to make something of it. You want to explore it fully.

You want to be with Frisk.

But…

Could Frisk ever love you back?

You feel the aforementioned girl shifting underneath you, and quickly bring up your hand and wipe away your tears. You can’t believe that you’re crying. You don’t know exactly why, maybe from the shock of finally coming to terms with the fact that you love someone, you love Frisk, and you’re taking a huge risk and _she may never love you back_ , or just the intensity of your emotions.

Feeling like this is certainly strange.

You can’t tell if you enjoy it or not. Maybe you haven’t been acquainted with it long enough to know. It’s definitely scary, but also exciting to experience something you’ve never felt before. Something that makes you feel giddy and makes your heart race and gives you a semblance of possibly being happy with someone. It distracts you from everything else, which is nice, and that’s definitely something you could get used to if nothing else about it.

You just hope that you can at least keep it under control until you find out where Frisk stands.

For now, you guess... you’ll just have to stay quiet about it. The happy and excited side of yourself wants to sit and talk about how you feel for hours like an excited child about their first crush. You suppose that is kind of what you are, clueless and inexperienced and new to all of this and eager to talk about it. But you also want to tell someone because you’re afraid. This is all unknown to you, and the possibility of Frisk not feeling the same way is terrifying. You want to know how to work this out, how to figure out if she does feel the same without giving yourself away, how to cope with all of your urges. But, unfortunately, you don’t think you have another choice. Frisk would be the one you’d go to with something like this, and the next person would be mom but you don’t think that’d be the best idea, considering you and Frisk are sort of de facto siblings and all.

It sounds really bad when you put it that way. You try to push the idea of you two being housemates and simply calling the same people “mom” and “dad” because of this reason. No wonder you never really liked being seen as Frisk’s older sister. It’s endearing in a sense, you guess, being a guiding figure in her life that she looks up to, but you want to be something more than that. The idea of you both being siblings isn’t really pushed, however, and in all honesty you doubt mom would actually have that much of a problem with it, considering you’re not actually related and all, so you’re probably just making excuses, it’s just…

Even if you do want someone to talk to, admitting these feelings to yourself is one thing. Saying them out loud is another.

So, even if it’s uncomfortable for you, you’re not going to tell anyone just yet. Despite wanting to. You’d probably end up deciding against your decision at the last minute, anyway.

If you can stand keeping quiet about this.

Frisk shivers in your arms, and you think that the two of you have been up here for long enough. She’s only wearing a sweater, despite it being a thick one, and you both probably shouldn’t have headed out so underdressed for the weather. It’s not _freezing cold_ , but it’s cold enough that if you stay out here long enough in the state that you’re both in, you could possibly get sick. And you don’t want Frisk getting sick.

“Are you ready to go back now?” you ask, and Frisk nods, looking tired. Right. She didn’t get a good sleep last night. “I’ll go in first and check to see if the comedian is still there. If he is, I’ll force him to leave or something. Alright?”

You don’t know exactly how long you’ve both been up here, unquestionably not a few hours like mom had suggested, but it’s been a considerable amount of time. If her and Sans were simply “talking” like they said they’d be, than he _should_ be gone by now. You think she was just exaggerating a bit when she brought up that time period. That would be an awful long time for them to just be talking.

She winches a little at the mention of Sans, and you have to wonder exactly what it was that she dreamed about. If she’s correct in her inferences about the connection between the dreams and timelines, you’re going to have to have a fun little game of pummel the skeleton.

“Okay.”

She gets off of you, and while you miss the warmth, you feel the tiniest bit of relief from getting away from the embrace. Even something as usual as that for the two of you is now incredibly flustering.

You insist on going down first, Frisk following slowly behind, so you can watch out for her, even if you were the one who ended up falling in the first place. She tells you not to fall again, which would’ve annoyed you if she didn’t sound so genuinely worried. You wouldn’t have fallen if you didn’t drop on an unsteady branch. It has nothing to do with your climbing skills. Although, maybe they are a bit shaky, considering you were dead for like a hundred years. But you don’t really count that time anyway.

Once you’re on the ground, you help Frisk down as well, and then you lead the way back to the house. At the very least, Frisk seems more relaxed than she was earlier today, which is good. That was pretty much the point of you getting her out of the house.

Most of the walk is in silence. It’s not that far, and you momentarily distract yourself by looking at the sky and debating whether or not it may snow later. The clouds stretching across the sky are thin and patchy, and if you remember correctly, that’s what snow clouds look like. You haven’t had a snow since you’ve gotten on the surface. It would be nice if it did. Like some sort of milestone or something.

That only lasts you so long though, and then you’re slightly cold yourself, and you find yourself wanting to reach out and grab Frisk’s hand. Holding hands with her just makes you feel… safe for some reason. You like how well her smaller palm fits inside of your larger one. But, with your thoughts, you hesitate.

This whole thing has just made you weaker, you swear.

You reach out anyway, though, but because you pause, when Frisk moves, her hand lightly brushes against your own, and she glances over, to which you quickly pull back. She doesn’t glance up at you or say anything, though, and you think she didn’t notice. Good. Maybe you’ll be able to retain some part of your dignity.

Then, she stops, though, and you get nervous all over again.

“Hey, can you hold something for me?” she asks, hiding one of her arms from you. You raise an eyebrow, not sure what this is about, but still offer her your open palm.

She digs through the pocket of her jeans, taking out something enclosed in her fist. You can’t see what it is. She places her hand onto yours to give you whatever this thing is, but she doesn’t give you anything. Instead, she skillfully laces her fingers into yours, successfully holding your hand.

Nevermind. There goes your dignity.

Your cheeks heat up and you shamble a little bit further away from her. You should’ve expected something like that from Frisk. You guess she did see your failed attempt at trying to hold hands with her.

She begins walking again with a spring in her step, seeming proud of herself. You do have to admit—that _was_ smooth. And, she’s happy this way, so you’ll let her have it.

You step closer to her again little by little, walking hand in hand until you’re home, and despite your burning face, it feels nice. You’re slightly less cold. Your shoulders graze each other’s every now and then and you can somewhat feel her body heat from where you’re standing. This is nice.

Maybe... this is enough. You think you can keep going like this. At least until you get everything sorted out. Maybe it’s not going to be as hard as you thought it would be. Maybe, just maybe, Frisk will end up loving you back.

###  _Chapter Seventeen: First Snow_

“How did the talk with Sans go?”

You get yourself a cup of water, Toriel shuffling through a stack of papers behind you. Sans was gone when you and Chara came back, thankfully, and no one fought. You may have been out longer than you thought.

“It went well,” she responds, and you don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

It may be none of your business and rude to ask, but you really want to know and do it anyway. “What were you talking about?”

You grab your cup and turn around, walking over to the counter where she stands. The papers you heard her going through are actually the mail. She continues, inspecting a couple of packages, sparing you a glance ever so often to be polite. Weird. What has she ordered?

“Tomorrow,” she states breezily, and you don’t like how vague she’s being. Something couldn’t have happened in such a small space of time, right…?

“What’s tomorrow?” you ask, taking a sip of your drink. You’ve sort of lost track of time lately, never bothering to really check the date. Your perception of time is fairly warped, too, but you guess that’s only normal considering you got used to not keeping track of it for so long.

And after resetting so many times.

Toriel puts the package in her hands back on the counter, looking at you in surprise.

“You really do not know?”

You tilt your head, trying to think of anything important that could be happening the day after today.

“It’s…” you try to recall the last time you looked at a calendar and actually saw the date, and what if would be now based off of that, “it’s like… the… the twenty-fifth, right?”

That sounds about accurate. You know it’s December, and the month is almost over, so it’s probably somewhere around there.

“Child, the twenty-fifth is Gyftmas,” she replies, sounding a bit nervous when she asks you, “do you not celebrate it?”

Ah. So that’s it.

Hey, at least you were right about the date though. Maybe you’re more coherent than you thought.

Christmas (or, as monsters call it, Gyftmas, you guess) has always been weird for you. You’ve seen other families celebrating it, but you’ve never actually celebrated it yourself. It’s not because your family was against it or anything, your dad was a hardcore Christian and from what you understand Christmas is a Christian holiday even if people of different religions celebrate it too, but your parents never had the money to spend on decorations and presents and such. Well, that’s not the only reason why. You think maybe if they really wanted to, they could’ve done _something_ , but they didn’t care about you enough to throw an entire holiday for you.

It’s not like you could be bothered that much with it, though, anyway. It wasn’t until you got a little older until you realized that it was something to be celebrated with your family and you gave each other things and it was happy and fun. You’d always hear kids you went to school with bragging about presents they got and talking about what they’d get other people and such, and you caught on. It did sort of sadden you, knowing that your family wasn’t like others and you’d never be able to experience such a fun-sounding occasion, but you got over it. It honestly seemed selfish to you, to expect gifts from other people. Who knows what someone else’s financial situation is? What if they were like your family, barely getting by without having to buy for others; it wouldn’t be fair that they were still expected to get things for everyone.

You don’t know, you guess there’s another side to it—that you’re giving to other people as well even if you are receiving yourself—but you’ve tried to keep yourself bitter about it. Because, that way, you wouldn’t realize how unlike other, normal families yours was, and how you’d never be able to be like the other kids.

“That’s not it.” You feel a rueful smile spread across your face as you stare at the floor. “I kind of always wanted to, but… my family never had the money.”

Which, is part of it, so you don’t think of that as lying. Saying that in itself sounds like you’re trying to get sympathy, and quite pathetic, and saying the full truth would be much worse, and that’s not what you want. No one should have to feel bad for you. That’s just how your life was and that’s that. Everyone here has had it worse and you’re already burden enough.

But, at the same time, you really should give them insight into how your life was, with everything that happened and that’s happening now. You know that. But… it still hurts to talk about, and you’ve blocked out most of what you went through, and if you were to bring it up again, start thinking about it again with all that you know now…

Who knows what you’d come to understand about your past life.

Besides, how do you say that your parents would rather spend money on alcohol and drugs than on you?

It really wasn’t a good time.

“Oh, Frisk, I am so sorry,” she frowns, motherly concern written all over her features, and you quickly shake your head, not wanting her to waste her sympathy on you.

“No, no! It’s fine. Since I never experienced it, I never knew what I was missing out on.”

She seems to contemplate this, not speaking for a moment and glancing away from you. “But, you would not be opposed to celebrating it, yes?”

“Not at all,” you answer, still trying to process what that implies, “but, um… if we are, I haven’t really gotten anything for anyone…”

“That is alright, no one will mind,” she assures you, smiling gently, “we just want to see you happy.”

Your heart hurts a little. Your first Christmas (Gyftmas? It doesn't matter either way). With your new family.

Although you do sort of have a problem with other people getting you things and you not being able to give them anything in return (especially when you feel you don’t deserve anything), the thought makes you incredibly happy.

You thank her. You can’t believe how lucky you are.

She just tells you that it’s her pleasure, giving your shoulder a tender squeeze before stating that she has a few other things to take care of, taking the packages on the counter and disappearing upstairs. You stay in the kitchen for a little longer, absently swishing around the water in your cup. You really wish that you actually kept track of the date and had time to buy everyone something. Although it’s still morning, if it’s a day before a widely celebrated holiday, then most places will most likely be closed. Not only that, but with everything going on, would shopping in public be such a good idea right now? It’s not like you have your own money, anyway. You wouldn’t want to spend Toriel’s money, especially considering you don’t know how much you guys have. It seems like you’re doing alright, though, since you haven’t heard anything about it, but you doubt Toriel would tell you if she was in fact in some sort of financial trouble. But, you have a decent house and you’re fed every day, so you assume you’re fine. Either way, maybe you should pick up an extra job or something. Could you be paid for some of the things you do as an ambassador?

Maybe you’ll ask Toriel or Chara to take you out later anyway. You feel bad making them go out for your sake, but you do want to get everyone gifts. You suppose you could always find a way to pay Toriel back later.

Does Chara even know Gyftmas is tomorrow either? You would think not, because if she did she probably would’ve mentioned it at some point. Maybe she doesn’t celebrate it at all? That seems plausible, too. Chara doesn’t really seem one to be crazy about holidays. You’ll have to ask later.

For now, though…

You go over to the other side of the counter, where Toriel was standing. There’s still a few envelopes and papers from the mail that she left. You know you’re probably not going to find anything worthwhile, even more so since she already sifted through it, but you’re still curious.

You begin going through the pile yourself.

There’s not much, which is unsurprising. You don’t think your house would be put on many mailing lists, considering the inhabitants. And it’s not like you guys have been around too long for companies to actually get a hold of your address. Despite this, you still find a magazine and coupons for a store you’ve never heard of before. But other than that, there’s a few envelopes that look important, but not in the sense that you’re looking for. Moreover, they seem to be related to taxes and from banks. All of it looks pretty normal. You didn’t think you were going to find anything, but you thought you’d check anyway.

Before you leave though, something catches your eye.

It’s a colored envelope, and doesn’t look like something written by machinery. It’s handwritten.

Curiously, you pick it up and inspect it, trying to figure out what it is without tearing it open. It’s made out to Toriel, but below her name is written “& the rest of the Dreemurr family”. The return address… it’s from a University?

Now you find want to open it. You haven’t really heard anything about school yet from anyone. You know you’ll eventually have to go back at some point, it’s inevitable and you still need to finish your education, but you have no idea how it’s going to work. You’ve missed so much school—months, if not a year; how are you supposed to make all of that up? Not to mention your status. That is certainly going to cause difficulties for you going back. It would be dangerous.

And it’s not like you could just go to the school Toriel works now, either. That would be too easy. You’ve talked to her about it before, and it’s an elementary school. You think it may have a middle school, too, but even then, you’re still too old to attend.

Oh well. Your best guess is that she may have asked a few schools if you could be enrolled, and she got a letter back either saying yes or no. If she hasn’t mentioned it to you, then it shouldn’t be that important. At least, not right now. And, since it’s around the holidays, schools shouldn’t even be in session right now, anyway. So you won’t worry about it for now.

You put it back on the counter and go upstairs. When you do go back, will Chara come with you? She’s… actually probably early college age by now, if you think about it, but it’s not like she’s been getting her education up to that point.

Who knows. You never liked school, and you don’t want it occupying your thoughts.

You’re too tired to worry about anything else. Honestly, you feel like you’re going drop at any moment. You know it’s not a good idea, considering how messed up your sleep schedule is right now and you’re just going to mess it up further, but you think you’re going to try and get some more sleep. It’s still fairly early, so you can get maybe a few hours and not waste the whole day away. Normally, when you sleep for such a short period of time, you don’t dream, so it should be fine. You just need more sleep. Everything else can wait until later.

One day, you’ll sort your sleep schedule out again. These nightmares will stop and you won’t have to be getting up at strange hours and barely getting any rest.

But, today’s just not that day.

* * *

The rest of the day is quiet and uneventful. Most of it you spend trying to distract yourself.

But, now that you’re alone and not occupied, your stuck with your thoughts again.

And they’re all about a one certain person.

You refuse to say their name anymore because they’re _all_ that you’ve been thinking about, but… It’s Frisk.

Sighing loudly, you grab a pillow from your bed and hold it against your stomach, falling flat onto the mattress. You just can’t. Stop. Thinking. About. _Frisk._

You feel so _weird—_

It’s like, whenever you think about her (which is _a lot_ , especially _now_ ), your heart races and you get all shaky and giddy and happy and _you hate it._ You just want to hold her and never let her go, getting your fingers tangled in her adorably messy hair and pepper her face with kisses—

This is so _gross_ and you _hate it_.

Warm feelings are nice in theory, you’ve always secretly wanted to feel them, but once you actually do, they simultaneously give you contentment and make you want to pull out your hair.

But, at the same time, feeling like this in comparison to endless amounts of self-loathing and guilt and anxiety and pain and carefully controlled bloodlust (however, that’s diminished a lot lately ever since you’ve started focusing on taking care of Frisk; what a coincidence) that you’ve been stuck with your whole life, this is so, _so_ _much_ better. You definitely prefer this to the bad emotions. If you weren’t also so revolted (and scared) by such feelings, you’d probably thank Frisk for giving you an alternative to the dark thoughts and urges you’ve been plagued with your whole life. If you’re ever able to get over yourself, you probably will.

You know you shouldn’t let yourself think about these things, that it’s going to get you even more hurt in the end if she doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, but you find yourself wondering what it would be like to be Frisk’s lover. What it would be like to be able to actually show romantic affection towards her. What it would feel like to kiss her. Even just casually, like a quick chaste peck on the cheek or such before you two left to go somewhere without the other. What it would be like to take her out on a date and talk for hours. What it would be like…

To have sex with her.

You hide your face in the pillow at that thought, internally screaming a little. It’s not like you just like Frisk because you want to get in her pants, that’s not it at all, you’d honestly be happy being in a relationship with her without sex whatsoever, but it’s like… you just love her so much that you want that. You want to make her feel good. You want to be able to worship her in every way possible, you want to show her just how much you care and how much she means to you. Sex connects you so deeply to someone. Even when you separate from your partner, a piece of you will still stay with them. You want that kind of connection with Frisk.

You want to be able to wake up with her beside you, wrapped in your arms and pressed against your body, basking in the afterglow afterwards. You want to see her sleepy smile and kiss her awake. You want to live with her, to come home to her after a long day and cuddle with her. You want to get married to her someday. Maybe… even have kids together.

What would it feel like to be able to call Frisk your own? You call her your girlfriend? To call her your wife?

You want to know.

You want to be able to love Frisk. You want her to love you back.

You squeeze the cushion against yourself. This is torture.

There’s a faint knock on your door.

“Chara?”

You quickly throw the pillow back onto your bed and get up, trying to bury your thoughts in favor of not doing something stupid. Maybe if you see Frisk you’ll be able to get some clarity and just _stop_ thinking about all of this.

You open the door and step aside to let her in, ignoring the side of yourself that wants to just grab her and pin her against the wall and get the kiss you’ve been trying to get for the past few weeks. She smiles tiredly when she sees you, stepping inside and leaning against the door once you close it behind her.

“...Did you know that it’s Gyftmas tomorrow?” she asks after a moment. The thoughts that have persistently been spinning around in your head this whole day finally stop for a brief instant.

“Really?” You try to remember the last time that you had looked at the date. Not _too_ long ago, you think, but it had never occured to you that it was holiday season already.

“I didn’t know either,” she says in a way that almost sounds guilty to you. You don’t really think it’s all that big of a deal. She’s been so busy that she hasn’t had time to think about that kind of stuff. You all have, really. “I think… mom is going to do something for it tomorrow.”

You aren’t surprised by that. “Alright. Do you know what she’s planning?”

She shrugs. “No idea. She was being really vague about it.”

You snort. Sounds like mom. “It’s probably a surprise of some sort.”

She nods. “Yeah. I think so too. She said that’s what her and Sans were talking about, actually.”

Oh, great. So Sans is involved in this too. Just something to make tomorrow even more _fun._

You’re being sarcastic, of course. You’ve never enjoyed this time of year.

“Did you use to celebrate it?” Frisk asks curiously. You don’t answer immediately. The answer is sort of complicated.

“Kind of,” you manage, not really knowing how to describe how holidays use to work for you. When you were really, really young, you use to actually sort of celebrate holidays normally, even if your family couldn’t go all out like some other families did, but as you got older, it just got worse and worse. Sometimes, family members would come over, but more often than not they would just end up fighting with your parents and the night would end with someone getting hurt and broken glass. Your parents sort of just stopped getting gifts altogether, even though they barely got you anything in the first place. You went to church once or twice. You weren’t sure if that was worse than being at home or not. And that’s just what you experienced when you were living at home with your parents.

You sigh. “I just hope that this isn’t going to be some big get together or something.”  
Frisk seems to share the sentiment, cringing slightly at that. “Yeah. But if it does, I’ll be with you the whole time.”

You smirk despite how appreciative you are of her efforts for you. “What, and protect me from the most terrifying thing known to man”—you feign a dramatic gasp—“social interaction?”

Frisk nods enthusiastically. “Well, of course. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

You both laugh, and you think that maybe this year will be different.

“You know,” you begin, growing more serious, “I used to always hate this time of year. Everyone would pretend like everything was okay, and that we were happy, even though we weren’t. It was terrible. But… I think that it may not be so bad this time.”

Not if she’s here with you.

You don’t say it, but it’s definitely what you mean.

“It won’t be,” she says excitedly, “it’s… this will be my first Gyftmas.”

At first, that surprises you, but then it just makes you sad. “You’ve never gotten to celebrate it before, huh?”

She visibly deflates a little. “...No. I haven’t.”

You can’t really be one to judge considering your own situation, but at least you got to have a nice holiday _once_ . Frisk hasn’t _ever_ gotten that opportunity. Frisk who is the sweetest and most innocent person you know. How could her family deny _her_ something like that?

And suddenly you’re wishing that you’d paid a bit more attention and remembered the significance of the twenty-fifth so you could’ve gotten her something.

Maybe it’s not too late, though…

“It’s okay, though,” she claims, cheering up, “I’d rather have it with everyone here, anyway. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah…” you agree, a bit absent now, “we’ll make it good for you.”

She looks at the ground, rubbing the back of her neck, a quiet smile spreading across her face. “I’m so happy to be here with you guys.”

You resist the urge to just pick her up and hug her. “We’re happy to have you too, Frisk,” you say instead, “we’re happy to have you too.”

Much, much more than just happy. Frisk means the world to you, and you’re sure she means a lot to everyone else, too.

And even though all you want to do is spend more time with her, you now have something you want to accomplish. It’s already late, and you’re not sure how long it’s going to take, so you should probably get started on it now.

“Well,” you start resistantly, “you should probably get to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

“Yeah.” She seems reluctant too, glancing between you and the doorknob a couple of times, almost nervously, and then timidly opens her arms questioningly for you.

“Sure.” You inwardly scoff at how one second she can be so boldly flirting with you and intimately cuddling with you and the next she’s shy about something as minuscule as a hug. Frisk is really so strange.

The embrace is short, and you want to hold onto it longer, but you pull back when she does, reminding yourself that you’re going to spend probably most of tomorrow with her. Most likely, that’ll be the only nice part about it.

“Goodnight,” she says happily, opening the door. You watch her leave.

“Goodnight,” you say back. You wait until you hear the sound of her door close before you leave your room.

This is definitely last minute, and you know if you had more time you could’ve done a lot better, but it’s better than nothing. Since it’s Frisk’s first Christmas, you want to at least get her _something_ , even if it’s small. You’ll make it up to her later. Maybe you’ll get her something really big for her birthday. There’s more pressure surrounding that, anyway, since it’s about her and not a general holiday. You still need to find out when that is.

You’ll do the best you can with this, though. All you really want is for Frisk to be happy.

Of course, for the rest of the night, Frisk is still all you think about. You don’t think this is going to stop anytime soon.

But, for some reason, you don’t have much of a problem with that.

* * *

You wake up panting and shaking and afraid, sitting up fast and enfolding your arms around yourself. You know you had a nightmare again. You had to. There’s no other reason you would feel like this. But… you don’t remember it. That’s new.

Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, though. At least you got a fairly good rest last night.

You take some time to calm yourself down, taking a few deep breaths and glancing around the room to convince yourself everything is fine, and then get up. You try to make yourself look presentable, noting the absence of Flowey. Maybe he doesn’t want to be around for today. You get that. You’ll look for him later.

Going downstairs, you’re honestly not sure what to expect. It’s mostly quiet, but you can hear soft murmuring around the living room. You walk in.

Chara and Toriel are standing and talking, but quiet when you walk in. There’s a pile of wrapped boxes that look like gifts beside them.

“Good morning.” You walk over to them. “What are those for?”

You gesture towards the presents, and Toriel smiles at you warmly. “Why, you, my child.”

You’re slightly startled. “A-All of them?!”

She nods. “Yes. You are cared about by many, you know.”

You look over at the arrangement of boxes again in disbelief. There’s a _lot_ there. You don’t need all of that. You don’t deserve this much from other people. Especially when you haven’t gotten anything for anyone else in return…

“And,” Chara speaks, catching your attention, “I made you something, too.”

She takes her arm out from behind her back, handing you a small pouch. You hold it in your hands, glancing up at her before untying the knot at the top. You feel bad. Even Chara who didn’t know about Gyftmas beforehand managed to get you something.

Inside the bag are cookies. Chocolate-chip, it looks like. They look good. You take one out.

“It was sort of last minute, but I still wanted to get you something,” she explains, watching you carefully. You think she’s waiting for you to take a bite.

“I didn’t get you anything, though,” you say sadly first, but Chara shakes her head.

“You don’t need to get me anything.” She smiles. “You’re the best present I could ask for.”

There’s a slight hint of teasing to her words, intended to fluster you, but… you can also tell that it’s genuine. You feel heat rise to your face and you look away, lifting the cookie to your mouth and taking a bite. Instantly, your distress is forgotten, and you’re imessered in Chara’s cooking.

“These are really good,” you mumble, glancing back up at her. She looks a little relieved at that, and then proud.

She had to have done this last night, right? After you had told her that you guys were doing something for Gyftmas, she had to have gone down and made you cookies. Even though it was late at night. She willingly stayed up and did that for you.

She begins to say something else, but you hug her and the words promptly die.

“Thank you, Chara.”

You pull back, satisfied to see _her_ now the embarassed one. “I-It’s nothing. Really.”

You’ll have to make it up to her somehow.

“I have gotten both of you a few things, too,” Toriel says, seeming happy with the two of you’s exchange. Are you going to open them now? Is that how this works? You’re so clueless about this.

“Okay,” you reply, deciding to just go along with it. “Still, I’m really sorry about not getting anything—”

“No, none of that,” she cuts you off, grabbing a number of gifts offset from the pile into her arms and setting them on the table. “I already told you that it is perfectly fine.”

You pout knowing that you’ve lost. You feel like arguing, but you know better than to argue with Toriel.

“Oh, and also,” Chara begins, directing your attention back to her, “just so you know, Frisk, a lot of your… _friends_ will be coming over later today. Around the evening or so I think.”

She sounded so bitter when she said “friends”. You guess she really doesn’t like any of the others you met in the Underground other than the both of your family.

...Oh! You’re finally getting to see everyone that you haven’t been able to visit with since the barrier broke!

“O-Okay!” you nod firmly, excited to finally reunite with all your friends. It feels like it’s been forever since you’ve seen some of them. But, your excitement dies down when you notice how uncomfortable Chara seems with the idea. Right. She doesn’t like big crowds of people. And she doesn’t like this time of year. This really isn’t the ideal situation for her.

“Don’t worry, Chara,” you reach out and reassuringly place your hand onto her arm, “if it gets too much for you, we’ll go somewhere else. I’ll make it fun for you, too.”  
She looks at you for a few seconds, and then sighs. But it’s not a bad sigh. It seems more… content. “Yeah, okay, Frisk. But this is more about you than anything else.”  
She can say that, but you’re still going to prioritize her above yourself anyway.

You sit down on the couch, taking the gifts that Toriel gives you and setting them on your lap. You can’t wait to see your friends. It’s definitely going to be a long day, but you’re more than ready for it. Today is going to be a good day.

 

 

“WAIT… THERE’S TWO OF YOU? HUMAN FRISK, YOU CLONED YOURSELF?”

You laugh, taking one of Chara’s hands into your own, picking up on her nervousness. You don’t think she actively dislikes Papyrus—at least, not nearly as much as Sans—but you know she doesn’t like how loud he is.

“No, Papy, this is…” you almost say “soulmate” but you catch yourself, “my best friend. Chara.”

You decide on just calling her your best friend for now. It’s much less complicated.

“Um…” Chara shifts uneasily, avoiding making eye-contact with everyone in the room, “greetings.”

You knew that everyone who arrived would individually ask about Chara, so she stayed up in her room until everyone had already come, and now you’re introducing her to everyone. You figured it’d be easier this way. Less questions in the future.

Of course, until someone figures out who she really is. But you’d rather not go into that right this moment, and you’re pretty sure Chara feels the exact same way.

“I-It’s nice to m-meet you, Ch-Chara,” surprisingly, Alphys is the first one to speak up, but she’s soon followed by many other greetings from around the room.

“Well, that’s it. That’s all I wanted to say,” you announce, making a motion with your hands for everyone else to go back to what they were doing. You know Chara doesn’t like all of this attention on her all at once.

You turn back to her, relieved that no one asked any questions. Eventually, either you or Toriel will tell everyone about who Chara really is.

“See, it went okay,” you tell her. That went quite well, in your opinion, actually. A lot better than it could’ve gone.

“I suppose…” She still seems a little on edge, and you understand that. Attention from a big group of people often leaves you with adrenaline for hours after. “However, that’s enough for me for now. If you need me, I’m going to be somewhere where there isn’t any people.”

“Aw. Okay,” you slowly let go of her hand, but before she can go away yet, you call out after her, “you’re sure you’re going to be alright?”

“I’m sure,” she replies. “Just have fun, okay? I’ll be waiting.”

You’re a little disappointed, you admit, but you let her leave. You don’t want to force her to stay. Whatever it is that makes her feel the most comfortable.

Well… you’re on your own now, you guess.

Time to catch up with everyone.

You begin making your rounds around the room, starting with Undyne and Alphys. Apparently, Undyne is looking into police officer training. It makes sense considering her background, but you guess you just weren’t expecting something like that. You think she’d do a wonderful job, though, one of the first monster police officers, and you make sure to let her know. Alphys tells you that she’s been doing a lot of lab work again, and she’s gotten letters from top-notch schools—one of them even being Harvard—offering her jobs and to let her use labs and equipment there as well. She says she hasn’t responded yet, but she’s thinking about it. You think it’s a great idea, but you advise her to go with what she wants and what she thinks is best.

As she’s talking to you, you recall your promise to Flowey, and note that she may be a really big help. You try to think of a way to get information without being suspicious.

“Oh, by the way,” you casually change the conversation topic, “do you have much information on souls, by chance? I’m doing a bit of research.”

That’s probably not terribly believable, but oh well, what reason would she have to deny such information to you? It’s not like you asked about DETERMINATION or something. That you would understand if she didn’t want to tell you about. Maybe it would just be easier to tell her everything yourself, and you know you will have to at some point, but you’d rather find out as much about this as you can now on your own.

“I h-have a few b-books,” she answers, sounding confused, and you speak before she can say anything else.

“Great! You wouldn’t mind if I came over sometime and checked them out, right?” You add quickly, “I mean, I’d also love to see your lab up here, too. You’ll have to show me around.”

It is true. You do think going and having a look around Alphys’s lab would be pretty interesting, and not only for Flowey. Alphys has a very interesting line of work, after all.

She agrees, although still a bit confused, but that’s good enough for you. You talk to her a little while longer about various things, one of them being her and Undyne’s relationship which sounds like it’s going great before the conversation winds down, and you say goodbye to both of them. It appears as though they’re doing well. You’re glad.

Next, you go to Papyrus. You really haven’t seen him in a while. You ask about what he’s been up to, and where he’s been staying. You find out that he is now staying in the same house Sans is, which isn’t far from yours. Before that, he says that Sans technically still resided in that house, but he was often not there and was gone on what he called “business trips”. You make a note to ask Sans about those, because even Papyrus doesn’t really know what his “business” was. Basically, they had the place near you, they owned it and everything, but neither of them really stayed there until recently. You were almost mad before you heard that, because otherwise Sans would’ve been _so close_ to you that whole time you had no clue where he was. _So close_ and he didn’t even come to see you. But, you let it go, since that’s not the case and you’re with Sans now and everything is fine. Except for the fact that you’re scared of him currently because he _may_ have killed you at some point, but you’ll just pretend like that’s not a thing for now.

According to Papyrus, he actually stayed with Mettaton who couldn’t make it today a lot during that time. You wouldn’t have guessed that. They’re almost complete opposites, you feel like, but you suppose you could see them as friends. If it makes them both happy, then you’re fine with it.

You promise to tell him all of your ambassador stories as time goes on, and to come over and visit, inviting him to come to your house whenever as well. Then, you’re off to someone else. This time, it’s Asgore.

Although you just saw him, you didn’t get to talk to him about everything when he came, and you thought you’d at least check in with him. You spot him near Toriel, so you only find it appropriate. You tell him that he should come visit more often, and you think that mom is lonely. He laughs nervously at that, but you insist that you’re serious and that you and Chara want him around more. You truthfully do. Even though you know it’s going to take some time, you want the Dreemurr family back together again. He seems touched by your words, and you mention that he could have garden in your backyard and at least that would be a reason for him to come over every now and then. You think it’s a pretty good idea. You think he agrees secretly but doesn’t want to admit it.

He goes over future political meetings, and you ask to go with. He simply tells you to ask Toriel again.

You have a few more things in mind to talk to him about, but a figure out of the corner of your eye catches your attention, and he picks up your distraction and tells you to go. You attempt to tell him no, that you’re fine and you don’t want to talk with that person, but he shooes you away anyway. You think he can tell something’s going on.

Either way, you’re forced to say goodbye and now you’re trying to find wherever Sans just wandered off to.

You had just saw him, but with his sporadic teleporting abilities, who knows where he is at this point. Unfortunately for you, though, you’re not lucky enough for him to have left and find him alone in a different room of the house by a window. He was with Papyrus earlier. You wonder what made him wander off…

“so, frisk. mind answerin’ a question for me?”

You jolt at the sudden mention of your name and the thick sound of his voice, taking a few steps back when he turns around to look at you. How did he even…?

“Question?” you repeat, swallowing hard. Your hands are shaking again, just like last time. You pull your sleeves down so they’re covered.

His expression changes from indifference to worry and you’re starting to think this wasn’t the best idea. You’re sort of cornered now.

“what’s going on?”

There it is. No easy way out for you this time.

You know there’s no point in playing dumb—you’ve been far too obvious and he clearly knows that there’s something up and there’s no way you can just pass this off at this point—but, you still do anyway in an attempt to stall for time. “What are you talking about?”

He’s silent for a moment, before taking a few steps towards you and stopping when you instinctively backpedal. He looks at you expectantly, and you know you just need to answer him now. But you don’t _want_ to. You don’t want to tell him you think he killed you. You don’t want to know what you did to get to that point. You don’t want to ask him if he enjoyed it.

_You don’t want to know the answer to that question._

“you’re shaking, frisk. you’re acting a lot like…” he studies you, his face falling, “like i’m going to hurt you.”

You almost ask him “are you going to?” but you keep quiet. You really should just tell him. He deserves to know. And he could help you. Maybe he could make these nightmares finally stop. You just need to tell him the truth.

“The nightmares I’ve been having…” you begin reluctantly, nervously pulling at your sleeves, “they’re a lot similar to what you described some of the other timelines to be like. And…” you suck in your breath sharply, here it it goes, “the last one I had… you… killed me…”

You mutter the words to the ground, taking another harsh in a breath and holding it. It’s _completely silent_ for a few seconds as they hang in the air.

And then, Sans’s demeanor _changes_ into something you’ve never seen before.

Panic…?

“frisk, i’m so sorry,” he apologizes to you hurriedly, and it’s probably one of the last things that you’re expecting. He keeps going, almost like he’s afraid he’s on a time limit. “i… when i did those things, i wasn’t _sane._ you have to understand, i had relieved the same things over and over and i was _the only one_ to remember and there was _nothing_ I could do i was _just so tired_ of it. you had killed everyone, so many times, and _no matter what i did_ you _wouldn’t stop coming back_ and doing it again _._ you had murdered paps countless times at that point, and i just… snapped.”

You scratch your arms uncomfortably, hating yourself a lot more than usual. Sans doesn’t even entertain the idea of the nightmares not being from other timelines, instantly admitting to hurting you trying to explain his actions. Because of you, he went crazy. You drove him to insanity. You drove him to killing.

_You drove him down to your level._

“Sans,” you say quietly, looking back up at him and managing a gentle smile. He looks afraid of what you’re going to say. “It’s alright. I already forgave you. I was just… shaken up, is all. The pain was… very real…”

You almost untuck your hands from your shirt to grasp at your chest again, but grip onto your arms tightly so you can’t. Sans’s grin falls, and he takes a testing step forward, which, despite you forgiving him, is still hard to avoid stepping away from.

“you know i’d never hurt _you,_ right?” You understand that he’s referring to “not-Frisk”, the one you didn’t have control over, as the one that he _would_ hurt. You thought you understood that, he wouldn’t hurt you now, there’s no reason for him to, but then again, you’ve also been so afraid around him for the past few days, so what’s the truth?

“...I know,” you settle with at last, and you think that it it is true. You told that to yourself, and even if it _didn’t_ happen to be true, your mind accepted it, so you think that the reason why you’ve been so wary of him has been because of instinct; your body acting without your mind. “I know you wouldn’t. I was just scared.”

Although, hearing him say that out loud certainly is really comforting for some reason.

As long as you don’t hurt anyone or kill anyone, Sans isn’t going to want to hurt you, right? And that’s easy. You can do that. You think… you can get past this. That’ll it be okay for the two of you. Maybe you’ll never go back completely to normal, but you aren’t going to let this get in the way of your relationship.

“I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting.” You bravely shuffle towards him, even it’s not that much, but it’s still an accomplishment to you. “I… trust you, Sans.”

He lightens a bit at your advance, smiling down at you. “you’re a good person, frisk.”

_You wouldn’t do something like that other Frisk did._

You hum, not agreeing and not disagreeing with that. If you were truly a good person, none of this would have happened in the first place.

You still keep your hands hidden in your sleeves, crossing your arms to hide them further. You aren’t that much afraid anymore, hearing Sans say out loud that he wouldn’t hurt you struck a chord with you for some reason, but you’re still just slightly cautious. You’ll get over it soon, though.

You realize that Sans probably deliberately walked by you to get your attention and draw you in here alone so he could talk to you. Smart. It definitely worked.

You remain with him for a while, happy to finally resolve all of this. You don’t know what other sort of things are going to be thrown at the two of you, but you’re confident that whatever it is, if you got through this, you can handle it. From now on, you won’t be afraid to come to him about things. In the world of RESETs, you have each other. You don’t forget unless the RESET is a true one, you’ve come to understand, and since you’re never going to perform a true RESET, then you’ll remember everything. So, even if you do have to LOAD, or there’s some other time nonsense that the two of you have to deal with, you can rely on each other.

Maybe…

Things will be okay after all.

* * *

Nearing the end of the night, you go back downstairs, despite people still being in the house. You get a drink and stay towards the wall, searching for Frisk to see how she’s doing. You don’t see her, though, and you rather than going around to look for her and having to sift through everyone, you stay put and decide to wait, watching the people that she calls “friends” idle and talk.

It still baffles you how Frisk can so easily call people who attempted—and _succeeded_ —to murder her friends. Personally, you hold a grudge against people who try to kill you, and you don’t really like the people who you had both died to far too many times. But you guess that’s just you.

You wait a little longer, and almost go back to your room to just wait for everyone to leave, but then you catch a glimpse of dark brown hair from the doorway of the other room, and hear the sound of your mother’s laughter, and you think you’ve found her.

When you walk in, you hear quiet music playing. You can’t make out exactly what it is. Frisk doesn’t notice you instantly, seeming preoccupied.

Singing begins on whatever track they’re listening to, and you realize that it’s a Christmas song. With it, Frisk picks up a spatula and uses the end of it as a pretend microphone and dramatically begins lip-syncing to mom and dad.

You have to cover your mouth to hide your laughter.

“ _I just want you for my own,_ ” she mouths to mom who looks just about as close to hysterics as you are, jokingly caressing her cheek before turning around again, “ _more than you could ever know.”_

She walks forward a little, placing a hand across her chest, “ _make my wish come true_ — _”_

She suddenly sees you and pauses, and you disappointedly think that you’ve startled her enough to make her stop—you wanted to see her continue, this is possibly one of the funniest and most adorable things you’ve seen in a while—but she quickly gets back into character, lying the kitchen utensil in her hands onto the counter and making her way over to you.

“ _All I want for Christmas is_ —” she spins in front of you, posing and then taking your hands into her own, getting on her tiptoes so she’s closer to your face, “— _you~”_

Finally, you can’t contain yourself anymore, and burst out laughing, causing Frisk to break character and go into a fit of laughter herself.

“Come on, Chara!” she tugs you in the direction of the other room, and you feel yourself inwardly groan but let her pull you anyway for the sake of entertainment.

She leads you into an empty space of the room and playfully begins dancing, trying to get you to join her. You’re hesitant, more content to watch her be stupid instead, but then she twirls into you, smoothly wrapping your arms around her hips and moving them into yours before pulling back again, and you have a change of heart. If that’s how she wants to play, _fine,_ you can play dirty too.

You grab her by the hips again, rather roughly, eliciting a small gasp out of her, and force her into a fast paced dance. She’s obviously taken off guard, and you smirk, pushing her back to spin her before pulling her tightly back in. Her hands find their way to your shoulders, holding on dearly as if for her life. You don’t slow down for her, though, wondering how long she’ll be able to keep up with you. She does surprisingly well, especially for someone who wasn’t royally trained to dance like you, and for a beginner.

“You’ve improved since last time,” you observe, but before she gets the chance to respond, you spin her out again, ending the dance with her across from you, still holding onto her hand. She’s breathing heavily, gaping at you with a red tinted face, but you can tell she’s happy with herself for getting you to give in to her.

Hm. You have an idea.

You let go of her, pushing her into the crowd of people around the room that had mostly stopped talking to watch the two of you. You had forgotten they were there for a second. She falls into Papyrus, who is confused on what to do for a moment, but then picks her up and twirls her around which she yelps at, getting into a dance with her as well. You step back, watching with satisfaction as she’s then passed around the room for the remainder of the song, looking incredibly flustered the whole time. At one point, she falls into the comedian and you have to watch them dance, which you regret not thinking through completely. Thankfully, though, it’s short-lived, and it ends with her stuttering and blushing intensely, and you walk over and take her back, deciding to make her end with you.

You press her torso against yours, making your way over to your side of the room again.

“ _Oh, baby, all I want for Christmas is—”_ you mimic what she did to you earlier, slipping your hands to her lower back and dipping her, “ _—you~”_

She blinks up at you a few times, and you note that that pretty blush is still on her spread across her face. Then, she presses her forehead to yours and just laughs joyfully. You do the same, that tingling happy feeling you get around her that’s now been increased ever since you admitted to yourself how you truly feel about her spreading through your body. You let it for now, though, figuring it’s well deserved as you have her so close and so happy right now.

In the midst of your elation, you really, _really,_ almost just give in and kiss her, but you both separate at the sound of applause. Frisk looks confused at first, righting her clothing and facing everyone else, but then bows theatrically. It’s alright. Frisk is happy. You’re still happy.

Fittingly, that’s how the night ends. After saying goodbye, they begin to leave. They all leave Frisk gifts, but you don’t think she’s going to have time to open anymore today. The house is quiet once again.

Mom begins cleaning up, and you and Frisk try to help her, but she doesn’t let you. And, after a couple more failed attempts, you both give up and go sit down.

“So,” you lace your fingers together, “how was that for your first Christmas, hm?”

“Better than I ever could have guessed,” she answers instantly. She plays with the placemat on the table beneath both of you. “I hope you had fun, too.”

“I did,” you admit. Most of what you enjoyed was when it was just you, mom, and Frisk, but seeing Frisk strut around in an oversized sweater and then being dancing with everyone was possibly one of the cutest displays you’ve ever seen. “Only because of you, though.”

She avoids your gaze. “You give me too much credit.”

“I don’t think so,” you reply, your eyes flickering to the window. You lean over to get a closer look, and it’s sort of hard to see, but it’s snowing out. “I guess it really did end up snowing.”

Frisk looks out as well, her face lighting up. “Our first snow on the surface,” she murmurs, thinking the same thing you are.

“Yeah. It is.”

She becomes pensive, watching the snow fall from where the two of you are. “We really made it, didn’t we?”

You nod, unconsciously reaching for her hand. When you realize what you’re doing, though, it’s too late, but you don’t pull away this time. Frisk gladly complies and holds your hand, giving a small, delighted hum that would’ve embarrassed you if you weren’t so high on your feelings for her right now. One day, you’ll going to tell her how you feel. You definitely will. One day soon. You smile.

“Yeah, Frisk,” you squeeze her hand, “we really did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to try to have a chapter out for New Years (bc honestly thank god this terrible year is over bless) so it shouldn't be that long until the next update. after that, updates should slow down again because i'll have to catch up with all the school that i've missed =(  
> see you guys then! hope everyone is having a good break so far! stay safe  
> 


	18. One by One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Seriously? Do you really think that’s a good idea?” 
> 
> You would shrug if your arms weren’t all occupied. When do you ever really have good ideas?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter of the new year!  
> I'm screaming i said i'd try to have a chapter out a month ago wow. i really need to stop setting high expectations for myself lmao. i got really sick like two weeks ago so that set my updating schedule back slightly and life has just been. interfering. but oh well, i have this now so. enjoy?  
> by the way; thank you all so much for all the comments and such! i read every single one and i do reply (even if it's late asf i'm so sorry you guys i promise i really love the feedback but i just have so much shit to do irl hhhh) and we've reached 100 comments?? not to mention we're almost at 200 kudos?? and already 150K words? i actually have no clue how long this is going to end up, which, is sort of concerning but. we'll see lol. in any case, thank you for all the support! i love you guys
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in frisk's pov.

“So, I have good news.”

You approach Flowey, who’s set on your windowsill, closing the door behind you. As soon as he sees you, he instantly appears more annoyed, probably put off even more so by your cheery demeanor. You ignore it though, you’re in good spirits more than normal today for a good reason. “I’m going to Alphys’s lab today to look around. You want to come with?”

Just as you had said, you managed to arrange a time to go over to the lab a few days after everything settled down a little bit. You had talked with her Alphys a little, trying to figure out more about this whole situation, but she was really... secretive? At least, you felt like it. Maybe excessively vague is a better way to describe it. Which, is expected, you guess, what she does is important and she can’t be sharing it with just anyone, but… it did make you more curious. From what you’ve heard from Undyne and Alphys herself, she seems to spend a lot of time in the lab and no one really knows what she’s doing. And maybe you’re just overly curious and you need to mind your own business, but you can’t help but wonder exactly it is that goes on there…

Ultimately, you’re going to try to find information for Flowey, and not to sneak around. You can’t help but wonder, though.

The aforementioned flower eyes you levelly. “Even if I said no, you’d bring me along anyway, wouldn’t you.”

“W-Well,” you debate on whether or not to try and defend yourself, but end up just agreeing, “probably…”

He sighs, most likely fed up with you by now, but no way are you letting him get out of this. “Come on, you said you’d help me,” you point out, “we could find some really useful things.”

He still looks irritated and inclined to disagree, so you decide to change up your act a little. You look away, taking a few steps backward and turning so you’re not entirely facing him. “You… you aren’t going to make me go alone, are you? I mean, who knows what could be there. I could get hurt. I need someone to protect me…”

You give him your best pleading gaze, nervously rubbing your shoulder to keep the charade. “After what happened in the True Lab, I can’t do this by myself. Not to mention being stuck in that hospital for so long. Those type of places scare me. You wouldn’t want to put me through that alone, would you? Please, _please_ Flowey, go with me?”

Maybe you’re being a bit over the top with this—you are—but, honestly, being this way is the only way you know to get to him, and you really _don’t_ want to go alone. And, not to mention a flustered Flowey is definitely on the list of cutest things in the world. You can’t help but tease him when it’s so easy to get a reaction. Is this how Chara feels when she teases you?

“Okay, okay, quit _whining_ ,” he says in exasperation to get you to stop talking, “I’ll _go_ , okay? If I didn’t, who knows what kind of trouble you’d get yourself into.” 

“Yay!” you cheer in victory rather childishly, patting him on the head in a display of gratitude. “Thank you, Flowey. I’m so thankful for you.”

“You’d better be,” he grumbles in reply, trying to get as far away from your hand as he can confined in his pot, “I really hate labs too.”

You slowly lower your arm back to your side, taking a few steps back. You didn’t think about that. You were just focused on getting someone to go with you so you didn’t have to go alone. And since Chara and Sans are obviously out of the picture, you went with him, which would work nicely considering you doing it for him. But you didn’t think about what it would put him through to bring him along.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, your mood sombering. Hard for the both of you or not, this has to be done. “We won’t stay long, okay?”

He tries to appear nonchalant, but you think he’s almost just as nervous about this as you are. “Whatever.”

You begin to leave, but you see a small bag on the floor and something else crosses your mind. “Hey, since you obviously don’t want to be seen…” you bend over and pick it up, bringing it to him and holding it up in front of him, “do you think you’d fit?”

He looks at you like you’re crazy.

“Well, do you have any _better_ ideas?” You inspect the bag before putting it back against the wall where you found it. It’s pretty nicely sized, you think you could put Flowey in there comfortably without anyone noticing and carry him around. “How else are you supposed to come with me?”

“...Fine,” he agrees reluctantly after thinking it over and realizing you’re right, “just… this better not take long.”

“It won’t,” you assure him. You don’t want to stay there any longer than you have to either. “I’ll be right back. I have to figure out how I’m getting dropped off.”

He gives you some snarky reply that you ignore, walking out the door and going downstairs. You never really figured that out; you just assumed Toriel would take you since she knows that you’re going, but you’d rather go confirm it with her now then spring it on her last minute right when you need to go.

“Mom?” you call out, but you’re instead met with Chara who turns around upon hearing your voice. “Oh, hi, Chara.”

You swear you see a hint of pink on her cheeks, but it’s gone the next second and you pass it off as your imagination. “Good morning,” she walks over to you, glancing you up and down. You’ve actually been up for a little while, and you spoke to Toriel earlier, but this is the first time you’ve seen her today. “Did you need something?”

“Kind of. It’s just…” you start to explain, but trail off. You don’t think Chara would take well to you telling her you’re going over to the lab. Especially alone, as far as she knows. She may discourage you from going, or want to go with you. You have no idea what you’re looking into, and whatever it is that you find, you don’t want Chara to have to deal with it too. And, if you can somehow find enough information to formulate a plan to get Flowey his soul back, you want to keep it to yourself. Maybe it’s selfish, but this is something you want to do. There’s a pretty good possibility that accomplishing your goal is going to get you hurt in some way, you think, and you’re not going to let Chara get involved and get hurt as well. She doesn’t deserve that. Even more so after everything she’s already been through.

You decide to just leave out where you’re going, “I’m going to see a friend, and I was looking for mom to see if she was taking me.”

“She was doing paperwork last time I talked to her,” she replies. Oh… you don’t want to bother her. She’s probably working through things for the school. Either way, it’s most likely something important. She shouldn’t waste time taking you somewhere. “But… I could take you too. Where are you going?”

Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned it at all. Sometimes you think Chara can see right through you.

No way to lie now, you guess. You don’t think there’d be a point anyway. If Toriel can’t take you, then Chara’s really your only option. And now that you’ve brought it up and she asked who it was, trying to evade it would be suspicious.

“Um… I’m going to see Alphys at the lab.”

You expect her to be a little surprised, but strangely enough, she’s not. She appears more… worried. “And you’re going by yourself?”

You knew she wouldn’t like that part. “Well, yes, but… Alphys will be there. I’m just going to hang out and look around. It’s not like it’ll be dangerous.”

Except it kind of will be and that’s not true at all, but you have to make her let you do this somehow. Chara can’t get hurt again because of you.

You don’t like having to lie so much.

She still doesn’t seem satisfied, but goes along with you anyway. “...Alright, I suppose. Just be careful. But, I’ll take you. When do you have to go?”

You hate making her worry like this, too, but it’s necessary. “Right around now, actually,” you answer, which is probably true, you should get there on time with the length of the drive, “but, let me grab something first. I’ll be back.”  
She nods, walking off to probably go get ready to leave herself, and you go back upstairs and to your room to get Flowey.

“Ready to leave?” you ask when you walk in, reaching for the bag and giving him a reassuring smile when you see the growing concern on his face. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

“I know what your definition of careful is,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes, “be _extremely_ careful.”

You’re pretty sure he’s referring to your tendency to mess up things even when you _are_ being cautious, so you get why he’s wary. You don’t know why you’re like this, whether it’s because you’re incredibly clumsy and in your head a lot of the time (although, you like to think you’ve gotten better at that, especially now that Chara’s not just an existence in your mind anymore) or because you have remarkably bad luck, or all of it put together, but you hope at it improves at some point.

Slowly and _extremely carefully,_ you set the handbag onto the ground and grab Flowey’s pot, lowering him inside of it, making sure not to accidentally grab his leaves or get them caught on the material of the bag. It’s a tight fit, with him in a pot in everything, you have to pull the outside up so he’s covered and probably zip it up completely to have him fully concealed, and Flowey makes displeased remarks the whole time, but it works.

“Told you,” you say, grasping the handles of the bag, “you okay? Nothing hurts?”

“Besides being _stuffed in a bag_ and the possibility of suffocating when you zip it up, I’m fine.”  
You give him a pat. “I won’t let you suffocate, Flowey. You’ll be fine, I’ll make sure of it.” You don’t think you’ll be able to convince him entirely, though. He just kind of has to trust you, and you don’t know if that’s going to happen, unfortunately. “I’m going to close it, okay? But I’ll leave the end open.”

He sighs but agrees, lowering himself down further, and you heedfully zip it up until there’s a small space from the end, thankfully not ripping any of his petals in the process. After once again asking if he’s okay and getting a reluctant response, you pick up the bag, gently carrying it and holding it in your hands instead of slinging it on your shoulder. You _could_ just bring him along and not put him in the bag until you get to the lab, considering it’s Chara who’s bringing you now, but you feel like bringing Flowey with you when you’re going _Alphys’s_ would give her the hint that something’s off about what you’re doing. You’ll just be extra careful.

You go back downstairs, holding the bag close to your body. You find Chara waiting for you by the door, keys in hand.

“Ready?” she asks upon seeing you, reaching for the doorknob.

“Yeah,” you take a long inhale, “ready.”

* * *

You thought, by now, you’d be use to the way you feel about Frisk. After going over the way your emotions and getting familiar with them, you’d be able to accept it. It wouldn’t affect you so much anymore.

Of course, you thought wrong.

No, you haven’t accepted how you feel at all; you’re still in disbelief about it. You feel just intensely as ever. In fact, you swear it’s getting worse every day.

It kind of makes you feel like a child again.

Everything seems so new. It’s sort of hard to explain. It’s almost like you’re a new person, in some ways. Your view on certain things have changed, you have a new enjoyment for some activities… the bad things in life seem bearable and they don’t matter as much. Getting up in the morning is easier, dare you say that sometimes you’re happy and eager to. Colors look clearer and more vibrant. Everything is… brighter.

It’s strange and still foreign and you _still_ _don’t like and don’t trust it at all_ , but you have to admit that it’s… nice.

It’s really a nice change to how things used to be before.

You kind of wish you could just leave it at that, that you didn’t feel the need to understand the whys and hows and that you didn’t worry so much about the future, you could just _feel_ and see where it takes you, but you’ve never been the type to let yourself enjoy blissful ignorance. Deep down you know this is something you can’t afford to be uneducated about. That could result in the whole thing crumbling down and crashing and burning in the end, but you wish that you could at least stand to just let it be for a while. Maybe it’s been too short for you to truly accept that you’re in love and everything that comes with it. It probably is, especially for someone like you who may need _years_ to reach that point. After all, it took you so long to simply admit how you felt to yourself. But you’re impatient and you don’t want to wait. Not for that long, especially.

Since you still haven’t gotten the courage to have an actual verbal conversations with anyone yet—you can tell that it’s definitely too soon for that for you—you’ve taken to online research. And some of what you’ve found is… interesting, to say the least.

You’d honestly rather use books or something for research, that’s what you’re used to, but you can’t see yourself going out in public and buying or checking out books at a library about _love_ and _romance._ But, with using the internet, you also don’t have a clear distinction between what’s true and what’s false. With other topics, ones that are less abstract, it’d be easier to tell what’s fact and what’s fiction and what sort of websites are credible and which ones aren’t, but with something like this, where it’s more of a matter of opinion and there isn’t a lot of science to back it all up, where most of the answers you want lie in articles, it’s so much harder to tell. It’s so much harder to just _trust_ the person who wrote them as well—most of them are quite personal and come from experience and just because it’s one way for one person doesn’t mean it’s going to be that way for the next. You want concrete, solid answers. You want to be assured that certain things are fact. You hate putting trust in something that you don’t know. But… love isn’t something that can be condensed to a few simple terms and subsequent end results. It can be different for everyone; it can _mean_ different things for everyone. It can’t be explained by a certain principle and it’s always unclear how it can end up.

You still find yourself searching for those answers that don’t exist, though.

You know you have to find out a lot of this for yourself, if your lack of information is anything to go off of. It’s specific to every other person. But, that means you have to take risks, and you don’t really _want_ to and take _another_ risk of messing things up. You’ll probably end up doing some _thing_ eventually, this not knowing will kill you and your need for answers will force you to, but for now, even it’s unsatisfactory, you’d rather sit in your room with the door locked, lying on your bed and clutching a pillow to your chest, embarrassed and red-faced while you do your “research”.

Ultimately, you didn’t really find much. You know that you’re definitely in love with Frisk, pretty much every single piece of information you found where the feeling of romantic love for someone was described matched up to how you feel about her, and you know that it’s longterm. It’s not just an infatuation. That would make things easier, less scary and permanent since you know you could just ride it out and get it over it, but actually getting over serious feelings for someone doesn’t look easy. It’s possible, according to what you’ve read (although, you somehow doubt just how attainable it really is—in the end, won’t you still have some sort of affection for the person that you were once in love with?). And, unfortunately, at this point, you don’t know if you _want_ to get over the way you feel about Frisk. Not when there’s a possibility—even if it’s so, _so small_ —that she could feel the same. You couldn’t let yourself. But, on the other hand, you still can’t get over the possibility that she may very well _not_ feel the same.

Most of the articles you found advise people to tell the one they love how they feel. Because even it’s not reciprocated, the other person should know, and keeping it to yourself isn’t healthy. You need the closure to move on. And you get it, that makes sense, but it’s just not something that you think you could do. You don’t want to get rejected. You don’t want to have to move on. You’d rather try and figure out if she likes you back (and there are ways, too, you’ve read everything you can find on that more than once). It seems like the better idea, because even if you did happen to somehow find out that she _didn’t_ like you—which, is actually probably very likely and you really shouldn’t be considering the other option so much—then…

Maybe you could make her like you?

It’s a long shot, by far, but… maybe it would be possible. You’ve read things about that, too, and mostly you’ve heard it’s not the _healthiest_ thing to do, it’s better to move on (although, at this point, you’re really not sure how much you believe in the whole “getting over your feelings and moving on” thing) then to try to force someone to like you, but it’s not _impossible_.

Why does this whole thing have to be so _complicated?_

You don’t want to get your hopes up, if (when? It should probably be when, but, god,  you just don’t know with yourself) you tell Frisk and you’re rejected then it’s already going to damage you, and if you somehow thought that she could feel the same and she doesn’t it’s going to hurt _even more_. It sounds already crazily painful enough.

But…

You still find yourself continuously thinking back to the signs of romantic interest and comparing them to how Frisk acts, and you just _wonder_...

This can’t be good. It _can’t_ be healthy. But _dammit_ do you just want to be with Frisk.

Even now, when you’re just driving her somewhere—which, you’ve done before and for much longer—you’re nervous. You’re hyper aware of your every move, but at the same time, all you want to do is reach over and touch her. You just want to hold her, and kiss her, and—

You swear you can’t stay focused for more than a few minutes.

Between thinking about Frisk and trying to find your way to the lab, your mind is completely occupied. You found it sort of strange when she mentioned where she’s going, after her previous experiences with labs and those types of places, you wouldn’t think she’d be so eager to go back. Not to mention you really don’t like the idea of her going alone. Alphys isn’t someone who’s high on your list of people who you think are dangerous or harmful to Frisk, but she’s somewhere on there, along with most monsters from the Underground. Even though you hate labs as well, and spending time at one wouldn’t be how you want to spend your day, you’re honestly really tempted to just go in with Frisk and stay with her even if she doesn’t want you to. You know this time it’s probably going to be different, you don’t think there’s been enough time for Alphys to do anything extreme at the lab yet, but still, a part of you just doesn’t like this.

With all that in mind, when you do manage to find the place, you make sure to double check with Frisk before she leaves.

“Are you sure this is alright? You don’t want me to come with you?” you ask her, and she quickly reassures you.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m not going to force you to come with me. You don’t have to do that.” She clutches a bag close to her chest, seeming to pick up on the idea that you’re not too keen to be spending time in a lab either. You feel like telling her that it wouldn’t be a problem, that even if it’s not ideal you’re willing to do it if that’s what will make her feel most comfortable, you really don’t mind _that_ much, but she goes on before you can. “See you soon, okay?”

“...Okay,” you agree, maybe a bit reluctantly, “just… be careful. Alright?”

She nods. “I will. Don’t worry about me too much.”

The last part was slightly teasing, but you can tell she’s serious. You roll your eyes and nudge her out of the car to which she laughs at and waves before obeying. You watch as she walks away, scoffing to yourself. How can she just tell you _not_ to worry about her? After all that’s happened, of course you worry. She’s so important to you, there’s no way that you _can’t_ worry about her.

You are willing to admit that you probably _do_ worry _a little_ too much, but you think it’s justified. Frisk does have a knack for getting into troublesome situations, after all. Although, you suppose, you weren’t any different when you were younger.

You still feel like following her, you often do when she goes off to places alone, especially with her “friends” (how are you supposed to just trust that they’re not going to hurt her again?) and maybe it’s something you should work on, you can’t go with her everywhere and you two around each other a lot as it is already, but…

...Oh well. It’s too late now, anyway. You’ll just keep alert and ready to leave to come get her at any moment if she needs you to. That’s probably the best you can do at this point.

“Frisk,” you sigh to no one in particular, still watching as her figure disappears into the large building. If only she wasn’t so good, so caring, you wouldn’t have to worry about her so much. “Why do you have to be so nice?”

But, when it comes down to it…

Maybe you don’t mind worrying about her all that much.

* * *

“This place is… really big…”

You mutter that to yourself, inspecting your new surroundings in amazement. The whole entire lab has a few aparts to it, and you’re only in one, probably where she keeps most of her data and stuff like that. She showed you around briefly prior to coming in here, and you’ve got to say, although this area isn’t where actual work goes on, it’s not any less impressive than the others. The room is mostly bookshelves full of books and there’s a desk towards the back with a computer and files littered over the top of it (you’re sure there’s more inside the compartments and drawers), although there’s one or two pieces of machinery that you don’t really recognize. They look normal, like something you would find in a lab, and mostly harmless, but you still find yourself shying away from them regardless. You’d just prefer not to be near anything like that.

“W-Well, th-this is where I keep m-most of my informational b-books,” she says to you, walking over to one of the bookshelves and beginning to scan it, probably looking for the type of books you requested. You hum in response, walking over to a spare table with a bit of clutter on it and setting your bag (Flowey) down on a free space of it. Fortunately for you, he’s been quiet so far, but you don’t know exactly how long that’s going to last so you might as well try to speed this up.

Although, where is it that you start? Since this was kind of a spur of the moment type of thing, you didn’t really plan out everything you wanted to ask. You guess you have an idea of what kinds of things that you should know, but trying to voice them without it being suspicious is going to be hard…   

Maybe you should just go for it? You don’t think there’s any sustainable excuse that you could come up with, much less convincing. There’s really no reason that you should be wanting to know about SOULs unless of course, number one: you have an issue with them yourself—which, you do, clearly, quite a few actually, but you’re keeping that to yourself for now. It’s for the best—or, number two: you’re simply overly curious. It’s not like that would be an act to put on, you _are_ a curious person, and maybe if you weren’t in the situation you are now you _would_ end up asking questions about things you don’t really need to know. All of this _is_ pretty interesting to an extent. Maybe there is a possibility that you could play it off like that and get by. It’s probably still fairly questionable, but it seems like the best that you’ve got.

“I don’t really know that much about souls and all of that,” you begin, “so… just out of curiosity, let’s say—hypothetically—that something living didn’t have a soul. Would it be possible to give it one?”

It’s a strange question, and oddly specific, and that only becomes clearer to you once it’s out of your mouth. But, you suppose it could be interpreted differently, like you were more asking about the possibility of making a soul rather than the actual situation you’re trying to get information about.

She stops looking over the bookshelf for a moment to glance at you in surprise. You expected such a reaction, and try to stand your ground for the sake of answers.

“I-I mean,” she turns back to the books, but you don’t think she’s really looking right now as much as she is trying to answer your question, “I suppose? I-I don’t really see the p-point, though, b-because it would be fairly complicated, a-and whoever it is that the s-soul is coming from would have t-to be willing to give up their own life f-for the person that needs the soul.”

Ah. So that’s how it is.

You think you figured as much, but you’re not done yet. “Then, can you… make souls?”

Maybe that’s a stupid question, but it’s still something that could potentially be a possibility, you guess. You think that would be a lot like creating something like human organs; you’d need something from the source to grow them and have them work because you can’t artificially make something like that. You can’t artificially make life. So… creating a soul that would actually function normally probably isn’t possible, either.

Still, though, Alphys pauses to ponder it. “N-No. Not right now, a-at least, but I guess it isn’t... _impossible._ J-Just not with our current technology. And probably n-not for a while.”

Yeah, that sounds about right too.

You were just thinking… you know that creating a human soul would probably be somewhere near impossible, but maybe a monster soul wouldn’t be so far fetched, since it’s mostly made of magic. But, something like that probably isn’t going to be able to be done anytime soon, and it’s probably not high on anyone’s priorities.

 _It would be if they knew what’s going on,_ you find yourself thinking. All of this would be so much easier if you could explain everything. Then there wouldn’t be a chance that you’re missing out on something important just because you aren’t experienced with this stuff and you wouldn’t notice it. Someone who’s a professional should be working with such an important thing, anyway.

Although…

It’s not like you’re out of ideas. The two that you mentioned aren’t the only ones that you have. And, you’d kind of like to keep this to yourself until you’re sure you can’t do it by yourself anymore.

You’re not exactly sure of why you feel so strongly about that, since telling Alphys would be a big help to you and it’s not like you don’t want to or don’t eventually plan to, but… maybe you just feel like you owe it to Chara and Asriel himself, or something. Maybe it’s a way of giving back to them, and that’s why you want to do it by yourself. Or maybe it’s more that you don’t want everyone to have to suffer through the uncertainty of not knowing whether or not whatever it is that’s decided to bring Asriel back will work or not. No matter what the plan would be, if from what you’ve heard already is anything to go off of, it’s going to be painful for everyone. You’d rather just figure something out and then let everyone know and that would be better. It would save them from more pain that they don’t deserve. Or, maybe some part of you just wants to play hero again.

Or, maybe it’s something else entirely. Who knows. You just feel like… you _owe_ it to all of them.

You’re wondering if you could somehow do something with your DETERMINATION, since you have so much of it that it’s excessive—it would practically be a waste not to use it for _something_ —but you feel like asking about that isn’t the best of ideas. Alphys is probably a little touchy with that kind of subject.

You have quite a few other things in mind, in fact, but you feel like asking any further like this isn’t going to look very good. It seems like most of the ones you have she doesn’t have the answers too, anyway.

But maybe... there’s another way to get the information you want with a different type of questioning.

“Then… would it be possible for ghosts to exist? At that point, you wouldn’t really have a SOUL, right?” you ask, not knowing a better way to word it.

It may seem like a fairly random and unrelated question, but really, you feel like trying to find out information about Chara’s situation could very well aid you in creating a plan to help Flowey. They’re fairly similar, after all, aren’t they? If Chara somehow continued to exist (you both assumed was mostly possible due to your high amount of DETERMINATION) and could feel despite not having a soul of her own, and now she’s back with a body… does she even have a soul now? You have no clue, you wouldn’t think so since apparently it’s not possible to just create one, she’s probably just still sharing one with you, but…

A lot of it doesn’t make sense. She shouldn’t have a corporeal form. Which has been established, but you haven’t really thought into it much. You never really talked to her about it, either. Maybe you should’ve, you probably shouldn’t have been ignoring all of this for so long. Especially when figuring out what exactly occured in that period that you don’t remember could actually be vital to finding a way to bring back Asriel.

Well, better late than never, you guess. You’ll talk to Chara about what happened—or, what she knows. Because if she did know something important, you would think she would’ve told you. You’ve been meaning to do it at some point, but you never have, and you think you may have maybe been putting it off without realizing it. This time, you actually need to do it. Even… if it’s fairly frightening.

If you brought back someone once, you can do it again, right?

Alphys is silent once again, thinking over an answer to your question, you think, finding what she’s looking for from the bookshelf and placing two books on the table before moving on to another one to search for more. You… don’t know if Chara was actually a ghost, you probably could’ve said that differently, but you don’t really know how. You know that human SOULs can persist after death, but what are the specifics of that? And you think that someone who’s dead but is still around just in an incorporeal form is technically, by definition, a “ghost”. You wish there were better words for it—maybe there are that you just don’t know—but, that’s the best you can do.

“Th-There’s not really a s-set explanation of it, a-and it’s not something I-I’ve really researched,” she begins, sliding out a book and scanning over the front before putting it back into the bookshelf. “B-But… I’m sure it’s possible. H-Human SOULs can persist after death, so if they found a source o-of energy to live off of, th-they could probably stay around for a w-while longer.”

A source of energy…

Like DETERMINATION, right?

But that shouldn’t mean someone who lost their body should just become corporeal…

...Whatever. Technically you shouldn’t be alive right now, yourself, so maybe Chara coming back isn’t really _that_ out there.

“So…” you decide to continue to push a little, “something like a connection to another SOUL… that could allow someone to stick around?”

She takes out another book, briefly glancing over the cover, and then setting it on top of the pile, turning to face you. “A-A connection? Through SOULs? I’ve o-only heard of that happening in monsters. I-It isn’t possible in humans.”

You lean forward a little, your interested piqued. What does that mean? And if soul connections aren’t possible in humans, than what do you and Chara have? You _know_ that your SOULs are connected in some way. “What do you mean?”

The scientist folds her hands over the pile of books, her eyes wandering away from you. You get the feeling that this isn’t something very easy to explain. “Well, th-there’s something called a SOUL bond. They’re f-fairly rare, with how complicated the whole process is, n-not to mention moderately dangerous, but they do exist. They can only occur with two compatible SOULs, ones of which that resonate with each other, and require i-immense deep affection and desire between both parties. Really, it’s o-only a thing between married couples.

“B-But with humans, your SOULs are different than ours. It’s n-not something that should be possible,” she finishes. You don’t reply, thinking over what she said. You didn’t know that something like that existed. It’s… actually really interesting, if you think about it. Interesting and romantic. To love someone so much, to want to be one with them so much that you bond your SOULs to each other.

But, apparently, it’s only a monster thing?

You suppose maybe it’s possible that Alphys could just be mistaken. After all, she only had limited access to study on human SOULs, and if it’s rare in monsters, than maybe it _does_ exist in humans, it’s just so rare that she hasn’t seen it before.

Because what else could it be with you and Chara?

...Wait, maybe you didn’t think that through. You and Chara, it’s not like you two _bonded_ with each other. Chara hated you in the beginning, you think she did for a while, that wouldn’t be possible. But… could it be that you two _developed_ some sort of bond? That it wasn’t always like that?

Your gaze moves to the floor as your mind entertains that thought. You and Chara, sharing something so rare that’s really only found in married couples. Having that much mutual care and want for each other. Bonded all the way down to your very souls.

Of course, that still isn’t very plausible, but it flusters you nonetheless. You know that there’s _some_ sort of connection between your souls, and whether or not it’s the same kind that Alphys is talking about or if human bonds due in fact exist but are different than monster ones and _that’s_ what you have doesn’t really matter.

Although, that’s another thing you would like to find out.

“S-So,” Alphys starts, filling the silence that you didn’t realize had come over the two of you, “t-these are the best informative b-books I have on SOULs.” She gestures towards the stack of books on the table, picking them up and handing them to you. You note that she’s back to stuttering regularly again, and how little she did when she was talking about soul bonds. Seems that she’s more confident in things like her work. “B-But, um, if you don’t mind me a-asking… w-why exactly are you s-so curious about something like this?”

You thought your excuse of “just doing research” wasn’t the best one. You don’t really have any better ones, but you do think you know of something. It’s probably not anymore convincing than that, but, oh well. You’ll try anyway.

“I’m just interested in this kind of stuff,” ends up being your fantastic explanation. It’s not like that’s a lie—you _are_ interested in SOULs and a lot of the science surrounding them. Most things from the Underground _are_ interesting. Of course, you also have a motive for wanting this information, but you’re just omitting that. “I thought I’d at least try to learn a little bit more about monsters if I’m going to represent them to humans. And, with most humans not even knowing the SOUL exists, a little research on that can’t hurt, either.” 

You wish you could feel guilty about pretty much lying, but the end goal is too valuable for you to care too much.

“You’re i-interested in this stuff?” she repeats back to you, her surprise evident. You blink and nod, wondering if she caught on to you. She quickly adds, “it’s just, m-most aren’t. A-A lot of people think science is b-boring.”

You flash her a genuine smile. “I don’t think that at all,” you say. You really don’t think science is boring—seeing how everything is connected and why everything is the way it is is definitely an intriguing thing. Although, some forms of science you do find a little boring (physics), but you’ll keep that to yourself, that isn’t what you’re talking about anyway. “Besides, I feel like most people like that just haven’t had someone as smart as you explain it to them.”

She visibly shifts, looking down at her hands after your compliment, and you give yourself a mental high-five, clutching the books against your chest. You almost think about sticking them in your bag, but they’re way too big, and not to mention really all the room in the already small accessory is taken up by Flowey. You hope he’s doing alright in there. Maybe you should try to wrap things up.

You end up still sticking around and talking to Alphys for a while, walking around the lab a bit more. You lose track of time a little, forgetting about what you were here for originally while you’re talking to her. You like Alphys. She’s interesting and nice to be around with how calm she is, not as eccentric as some of your other friends. You relate to her a lot, and you find yourself wanting to hang out with her more. You really should be making a better effort to hang out with a lot of your friends more. That’s certainly on your list of things to do.

Your time together ends up being cut by Alphys herself instead of you like you thought it would’ve been. Undyne asks to meet her, and of course she can’t say no to her. You don’t think it’s urgent or anything, although Alphys does act a bit ancy and apologizes to you, but you assure her it’s fine. You should probably get going anyway.

You follow her out, walking behind her to the door. But, you find yourself lingering inside, for some reason, not wanting to step out.

“Hey, I think I left something,” you say. “Don’t worry, though, go on ahead. I’ll lock the door behind me when I leave.”

The door locks from inside, so you think you can manage that.

She nods, not seeming very concerned and hurries off, probably more preoccupied with getting to see her girlfriend.

You watch her go, standing in place. Maybe this isn’t the best idea—it certainly isn’t a nice one or something a friend would do, but…

“What are you doing?”

You look down at your bag to see Flowey’s head popping out, vines clutching the sides. Did he open it all the way himself?

You don’t answer immediately, contemplating what you’re considering before turning around and beginning to trace back your steps, noting in your mind where the exit is. “I’m going to look around a bit.”

“Seriously? Do you really think that’s a good idea?”  

You would shrug if your arms weren’t all occupied. When do you ever really have good ideas?

You hold the bag steady against your shoulder with one hand, holding the books in the other. “I mean, _probably_ not,” you try to ignore the images of what you found the last time you were forced to look around Alphys’s lab, “But, come on, you’re curious too, right?”

He doesn’t answer, and you take that as a yes. Considering what happened last time, this really shouldn’t be something you’re doing, but you just have this _feeling_. Like there’s something here that you need to find.

...That probably isn’t the best sign either, and if anything, should be pointing you straight out the door, but you’re already here, right? Who knows when or if you’ll get this kind of chance again.

You continue down the corridor until you reach one door in particular that interested you. Alphys was sort of vague about it when you asked what was behind, and if you didn’t know better you’d say she seemed almost nervous. Apparently, it’s a just used for storage.

You reach out and grab the doorknob, stepping back before turning it.

But, it doesn’t open.

You try again.

“It’s… locked?” you drop your hand, feeling slightly disappointed. Then, you recall seeing Alphys unlocking the room with all the books that you spent the most time in. She had a pair of keys, you think she kept them in her lab coat?

Mentally crossing your fingers, you head back to that room, which, thankfully, she left unlocked. You have to look around for a second, but then you see her labcoat laid across the back of the chair at her desk. You think you remember her taking it off before she left to see Undyne. You weren’t really paying much attention.

You immediately check the pockets, putting the books down while you search, but you have to go through one pair before you find something in the next one. Labcoats have an excessive amount of pockets, you note. You feel something hard in one of them, and you reach inside.

It’s the keys.

You feel a flash of victory as you recollect your stuff, heading back to the locked room. You think she probably took off the coat in a hurry, because leaving it out with the keys in it would probably not be the best idea. Although, you know how Alphys is; she may have just done it without noticing. Or, maybe she just trusts you enough to assume that you wouldn’t do something like you’re doing right now. You’re not sure which one is worse, because both ways you’re taking advantage of her.

You hesitate for a moment when you get back to the door, keys in hand before attempting to unlock it. This really isn’t something a friend would do. It’s not necessary, either. You don’t have particularly reasonable evidence to be suspicious. The biggest reason you’re doing this is because you have some strange instinct to, which, for all you know, could just be your imagination or a form of your curiosity. You don’t _have_ to do this.

…You’re doing it anyway.

 _Sorry, Alphys,_ you think to yourself, vowing to make it up to her.

You begin trying the keys one by one, going through at least three before getting the one that fits.

Slowly, you open the door, taking the keys out and pocketing them. You almost expect something to jump out at you with all the tension in the air, but instead it’s just…

A darkened room full of shelves and boxes.

“...That was rather anticlimactic.”

You’re inclined to agree. You’re not sure exactly it was that you were expecting, though.

You step inside, not bothering to look for a lightswitch as you plan to just sift through a couple of things and then get out. It’s a fairly large space, as you think most of the rooms here are, filled with rows of drawers, shelves, and boxes, most of which are full of files from what you can see. It’s really nothing out of the ordinary.

Either way, you set the books down on a spare part of one of the shelves near the door, taking the strap of the handbag off your shoulder and bringing it to the center of your chest, holding Flowey slightly upwards so he can see as well. You begin to walk through one of the rows, starting with the first one, taking a slow pace to scan the each wall, which takes a little longer because of the lighting. Maybe it would just be faster to turn on the lights.

“What exactly are you looking for, anyway?” Flowey asks, glancing back at you curiously. He gives you a few seconds to answer, but you can’t think of anything in that time period and therefore don’t speak, just stare back at him, which prompts him to take on a more annoyed tone. “What, did you not see enough of Alphys’s freaks of nature the first time?”

You cringe a little at the mention of that, not wanting to think back on the events in the True Lab any longer than needed. “No, I’m not searching for anything like that, it’s just…” you trail off, directing your attention back to the shelves as you walk. None of it seemed to be labeled spare a box or two and some of the drawers on the other side of you, which were sorted by letters. That much on its own isn’t very helpful to the contents, but at least it’s better than nothing. Still, it’s going to take forever to look through everything. Is there even really a point to this? What _are_ you trying to find? You came here to get information for Flowey, and you already have a pretty good start. You guess there’s a chance you could find something valuable in here, but with so much to go through, you don’t think it would be worth it.

Yet, when you think of just leaving now, for some reason, it just doesn’t seem like the best option…

“I don’t know,” you admit, not really liking your urge to look around in here, especially when you don’t want to stay here more than you have to and your tendency to normally try to avoid most situations with the threat of danger. You aren’t really… the bravest person. It’s something you’ve never liked about yourself. “But… you heard what Alphys said about this room, right? She seemed sort of… on edge, almost. I don’t know, maybe I was imagining things, she is sort of normally like that, but…” you slip your arms around the front of the bag, wrapping them around it sort of like a hug, “then again, the door was locked, so there has to be something that isn’t supposed to be seen in here, right?

Flowey doesn’t seem to notice your shifting, turning back the other way and glancing the room as well. “ _Or_ maybe Alphys just locks all of the doors as a safety precaution.”

That could very well be true too. “Well, only one way to find out, right?”

With that, you two begin to search through the room, Flowey going through the boxes and shelves, and you going through the drawers. You set him on the ground on the other side of you, saying to just look for something out of the ordinary, and, if he found anything, to tell you, telling him that you’d do the same. Then, if you come up with nothing, you think you’ll be satisfied, and you’ll leave. You just have to know.

Most of your search is uneventful. You probably should’ve expected that. Some of the drawers are empty, even, and the rest are just files. You leaf through a couple of them, but they’re nothing interesting. A lot of it just seems to be data and research on nothing particularly attention-grabbing. Just stuff you’d assume would be in a place like this.

Flowey has similar luck as well. You think he finds a bit more fascinating things than you, having come across a few objects of machinery and lab equipment in addition to the same type of things that you’ve found, prompting him to comment on how unorganized Alphys is, with how she seemingly just stuffed everything into a storage room even though the contents are vastly different and don’t belong in the same places. You don’t really have an argument against that, although you guess maybe it’s better that it’s all contained in boxes and drawers and such and not just strewn all over the floor, but you still find that a little strange that that’s how she organized it all. If she actually _did_ organize it at all, that is.

Getting tired of looking and probably running close to the time that you’re actually supposed to be picked up at (you and Chara briefly discussed it before she dropped you off; she said mom would most likely come if she was done with the paperwork she was working on when you left originally, but if not then she would come and get you around three, giving you around one or two hours of time, which is one of the reasons you found yourself lingering behind and not leaving immediately), you prepare to get up, checking one last drawer at the end of the row before you do. But, something catches your attention before you can just close it and walk away.

It looks normal, just another drawer filled with papers and folders, but there’s one that is a different color than the rest, which is why is grabs your eye. It’s probably nothing, once again, just a different kind of folder, but you still grasp it and pull it out.

Standing up, you open it, finding it almost stuffed full of papers, but just take one out for the time being. Closing it again and placing the paper over the front, you begin reading over its contents the best you can with the lighting. You haven’t really had much trouble so far, but then again, you also haven’t really stopped to actually read over a whole entire paper, normally just briefly glancing over it because nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It begins with a name at the top, one that you’re not sure how to read and looks Spanish to you, the rest following seeming to be information about this person. Sex, date of birth, age, height…

It looks to be a report of some sort?

It seems sort of like something you’d figure you’d find in a hospital, like a file of information on a person meant for doctors so they can know and record basic things about the patient. Strange, definitely, but maybe not something so out of place. Maybe Alphys is studying humans—or, maybe it’s a monster’s name, but it just seems very Hispanic sounding to you, so you don’t know—and it’s just the data collected from that. Or, who knows, maybe she’s holding onto it for someone else. Scientists share information like this with each other when related to their studies, right?

You read on, curious to find clues as to what else this may be. After height follows weight and BMI, and then…

Pain tolerance?

You didn’t even know that could be measured, and maybe it can’t, but on the paper, it’s scored on a scale of one to ten. Is this just a normal thing that you didn’t know about or is this just something that whatever place this comes from does?

The next thing listed is “TBT”, which you don’t know what the meaning of is. It’s obviously an abbreviation for something, probably similar to the others, but you don’t know what it is that it stands for. After that…

Your thoughts come to a halt as you read over the next line. You have to read over it a couple of times to make sure that you read it correctly. But, it’s the same every time.

 _DT Level._ DT typically stands for DETERMINATION.

Now you know this probably isn’t just a normal report on a patient.

Even if it does just happen to be something that Alphys is working on… why would she be needing to test someone’s DETERMINATION levels?

You _guess_ you could still dismiss that part, you have no idea what type of research she does and why, but what you read next is what really pushes you to the edge with this.

_DT Level at time of death._

One again, you read over it a couple of times to make sure what you think you read is really on the paper. And, once again, it’s _the same thing every single time._

Time of death. _Time of death._ The child is dead. The child that this report is written about is a _dead child_ . What was the age again? _Eight_?

Why is this here? _What is this?_

There has to be a reason behind this, right? It’s not what you think it is? None of it is what you think it means? You’re sure there’s a reason this is here, you wouldn’t find some sort of lab report on a dead child for no reason—

You stop for a moment. There’s something on your neck. A weird sensation, almost like breathing.

_Someone’s behind you._

Shocked and alarmed, you try to spin around and distance yourself from whoever— _what_ ever _—_ it is that you feel behind you, to try and see who or _what_ it is, but your body isn’t responding. You know you have to move, you’re telling yourself to, but you just can’t.

There’s a cold touch on your inner arm. You look at it, but there’s nothing there. But you can _feel_ something there, you can feel something resembling fingers sliding down your arm and gripping around your wrist. It feels a lot like grabbing—something’s _grabbing_ you and trying to pull you somewhere, but the touch is cold and wrong and _inhuman._ You swear you hear words in your ear, ones whispered to you urgently, but whatever is being said you _just can’t understand._

“...Frisk?”’

At the sound of another voice, the presence disappears and you find yourself able to move again. You don’t even bother to explain, dropping the paper and booking it to the door without looking back even once.

You’re going to grab Flowey and leave, but once you reach the exit, the door is closed. Is that why it feels darker in here? And when did the door close? You didn’t close it, and last time you checked it was wide open.

Not caring about the exact reasoning and more concerned about getting out of this room, you reach out and quickly twist the doorknob, trying to yank the door open.

It doesn’t open.

You try again. Same result. The door is locked? From the inside?

What the hell?

“Seriously?” you ask out loud, moving the doorknob back and forth erratically and continuing to yank on the door. After continuing this for at least five consecutive seconds, you realize that it’s futile, and it’s not going to open. Not sure what else to do, you resort to banging on it anxiously with your fist.

“Frisk, what the hell?” you hear from behind you, but you ignore it, pounding on it faster and harder in the off chance that there’s someone else here who will hear you.

“Hello? Is there someone else there? Can anyone hear me?” you yell, ceasing knocking for a moment to try and listen. “Please, is someone there?”

“There’s no one there,” Flowey says, obviously confused, and the feeling of a vine on you leg follows. “Frisk, calm down. The doors’ probably just close and lock on their own.”

You tear yourself away from his grip, continuing to bang on it and simultaneously try to pull it open. “There’s someone else in here,” you urgently try to explain, not looking back, “we aren’t safe. We have to get out.”

“There isn’t anyone here—” he begins to say, but stops himself and goes quiet. You don’t want to know why, now kicking at the door as hard as you can in hopes of somehow breaking it open.

“Frisk, stop,” he demands, having to speak a little louder than usual to be heard over your banging, annoyance obvious in his voice. You don’t stop.

“We have to get out,” you tell him desperately, now not even bothering to try to kick away his vines and just resorting to ignoring them.

“You need to be quiet—”

“We have to get out of here!”

“Be _quiet!”_

With that, you’re yanked away and then pulled down onto the ground, falling rather unceremoniously onto your back. You attempt to get up again, pulling against the grip of his vines which have found their way around your arms, but to no avail.

“Let go!” you force yourself into a sitting position as best you can with him trying to pin you down at the same time, crawling backwards clumsily to try to get away from him.

“Just calm down and stop yelling for a second,” he tries, but you shake your head, continuing to not wanting to be here a second longer with whatever else it is that’s in here with you and risk either of you being hurt.

“No! We have to _leave—_!”

They killed a child, an eight year old, now _they’re going to hurt you too_ —!

“Frisk, _shut the fuck up!”_

Anything you’re thinking of saying back to him immediately dies in your throat as a vine is roughly pushed past your lips and shoved into your mouth, quite literally causing you to swallow your words. You stop struggling as well, giving in and lying flat on the ground, inhaling sharply through your nose and trying to recover from the violent intrusion. The vine is far too big for your mouth, your jaw aching in protest as you continue try to adjust, not knowing what Flowey’s listening for. And it’s sort of hard to focus on much else when there’s a vine pushed to the back of your throat.

As you wait as patiently as possible, you notice that it tastes… weird. Earthy, like how you’d assume a plant would taste if you licked it, but oddly bland. You would’ve expected it to have at least somewhat of a hint of dirt, but you don’t taste anything like that, making it a little bit more tolerable. It doesn’t taste like much of anything, actually.

You don’t have much of a gag reflex anymore, but the sudden and harsh entrance of the vine is enough to make send you into a fit of coughs when Flowey carelessly retracts it without any warning, also letting up on your legs and your arms that he had been previously holding you to the ground with. You sit up, but fall forward onto your hands and knees, clutching at your throat with one hand as you hack and gasp for breath, the other going to wipe your mouth.

“You…” you pause to cough again, taking a long, shaky inhale, the words even harder to get out with how dry your mouth and throat now feel, “you could’ve… said something before you…”

It just now occurs to you what just happened when you try and say it, the reality of the situation a lot more clear now that you’re not choking on plant. You blink a couple of times, pressing your fingers into your lips, staring at the ground in disbelief.

“You…” you blink again, trying to clear your vision from the tears in your eyes, pushing yourself back and sitting on your knees, turning to look at Flowey, who’s watching you cautiously. “You could’ve just asked, you know.”

“What the _hell_ are you talking about?!” he asks you incredulously, that strange blush that you’ve seen on him a couple of times appearing on his face. “The only reason I did that was so you would shut up,” he justifies, and seems to want to say something else, but decides against it and sighs, his voice turning more serious. “I thought… I heard something.” 

He glances back the door, seeming uneverved as well but not nearly as shaken up as you were, and then you remember the situation that you’re in, the whole being gagged by Flowey making you temporarily forget. The panic comes back again, and you quickly grab the bag Flowey’s in and scramble to your feet, remembering your books and walking over to the shelf they’re on, grabbing them and then going back to the door, almost tripping when in your hurry.

“Look, it’s probably just locked,” Flowey says rather calmly, almost as if in an attempt to keep you calm as well, “try the keys and see if that works before you freak out again.”

You slip your hand into your pocket and pull them out, forgetting that you had brought them with you in the first place. You should’ve thought of that before. Maybe then you would’ve avoided that whole mess that you just got yourself into. You just weren’t thinking very clearly.

Although you’re more calm and level-headed now, your hands still shake when you try to unlock the door, enough to actually halt your progress, which makes you even more eager to try and shove the key in. it takes a couple of tries and almost dropping them (as well as figuring out the right key again because you forgot), and surprisingly, Flowey doesn’t get irritated and yell at you for it. Thankfully, he was right, and when you find the correct one the door unlocks and you’re finally able to open it, swiftly leaving the room and shutting the door behind you. That’s enough exploring for today.

You quickly go back to the original room that you were in and return the keys to Alphys’s coat, and then, as best as you can with your arms full, run out of the building and take a few steps away for good measure.

“I don’t know why I thought that was a good idea,” you mutter, taking a few deep breaths. Flowey gives you a look that just screams _I told you so._ You look away guiltily. You probably should’ve listened. “Oh, and… sorry I freaked out like that. I don’t really know what came over me.” 

You swallow, remembering what you saw on the paper, gripping your belongings a bit tighter. Although now that you’re thinking about it more clearly, it’s entirely possible that the only reason Alphys has those papers is because they’re from someone else (the possibilities of that are also disturbing, but maybe less so than you thought considering that they may be old) and you actually have no idea what it was from; hell, maybe it was fake. You have no idea why something like that would be fake and why she’d still hold onto it, but who knows, maybe it was like, some sort of template or something? You don’t know, you just don’t want to think that it’s real and it may very well not be, and if it is, you just hope it’s not as bad as you thought. Maybe it _did_ happen and it’s just really old. It’s probably not _that_ bad, you think, you overreacted upon the shock of seeing it and didn’t think over it rationally.

But, you can’t explain or justify that presence that you had felt.

You think that’s what ultimately caused you to really panic. Maybe a combination of both events consecutively.

You begin walking away from the laboratory, noticing that there’s no cars parked out front. You may still be a bit early. It’s better than staying in there any longer, though. You’d rather just wait out here.

“What did you see?” Flowey asks, turning himself in his pot to face you. You know you’re going to have to tell him, obviously, since you brought him along and everything and that was part of the whole deal you both made, but just where do you start? And how do you explain any of it? “On the paper you were reading, I mean.”

“It was a lab report, I think,” you begin, tempted to just leave it at that but force yourself to go on, “about a child. There was stuff about ‘DT’ on it. They… they died.”

Flowey isn’t too fazed by this, but you wouldn’t expect him to be, with the no soul thing and everything. He just seems puzzled. “Do you think it was hers?”  
“I don’t know,” you admit, going back to what you were thinking of earlier. “I would hope not.”

You pause, stopping your walk when you reach the parking space in front of the building. “Should we tell anyone?”

“...Not now,” he tells you, and you don’t know if he’s actually thinking about this in terms of what’s best or if he’s just interested in what may happen if you don’t say anything. But, you do see the point in not saying anything right away. After all, it may sound sort of crazy, and you did stick around after Alphys had left and go through her stuff. It wouldn’t be the best thing to admit up front. This isn’t something urgent, you don’t think, so it’s fine to just let it be unless something else comes up. That’s probably the best course of action right now.

You hear what sounds like a car from a little distance from here, and decide to forget about what happened for now. “I think that’s Chara. Or Toriel. I’m gonna zip the bag up again, okay?”

He sinks down into his pot a bit to make it easier for you. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I probably should’ve have stayed and looked around in the first place.”  
“...Maybe it was a good thing,” he says, not really seeming all that bothered. “You and I both know what happened last time Alphys was hiding something.”

...He’s not wrong.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I just hope this isn’t anything like last time.”

* * *

By the time Frisk is home and you get the chance to check up on her, you find her sitting alone, eyes fixed on the window, but her gaze seems distant. She looks as if she’s thinking about something.

“Hey.” You pull out a chair across from her and sit down. She jumps a bit, immediately straightening up, but relaxes a little when she sees it’s just you, turning so she’s fully facing you.

“O-Oh, hi Chara,” she greets you quietly, still not seeming entirely… present. Like she’s still slightly caught up in her thoughts. You don’t know if it’s just you, but she seems unusually jumpy. You weren’t even trying to scare her this time. Of course, maybe she was just startled because she wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings, but after where she went today, you’re slightly suspicious.

“How did the visit go?” you ask, just getting straight to the point. She draws her hands that she had laid out on the table closer to herself, slipping them back into her sleeves.

“Fine,” she says passively, beginning to say something else to probably change the subject, but you cut her off.

“Did it really?”

Frisk stops, her eyes widening a bit. “What do you mean?”

You frown, leaning forward a bit onto the table so you’re closer to her. You’ve been thinking about it among everything else, and the reason for Frisk going to the lab doesn’t really add up to you. Of course, she could’ve just be visiting her friend, that would be the most obvious conclusion to draw, but you know Frisk. She’s terrified of places like laboratories, especially after the True Lab—she’s told you that before. Just randomly deciding to go to the lab—and alone too, insisting that you don’t go with her—when she could’ve gone to Alphys’s house or wherever she’s staying currently… it just seems like something that she wouldn’t do. You remember how scared she was in the True Lab, you remember the exact look of fear in her eyes and how it manifested itself in her body, so strongly that even you had felt the reverberation of it. She wouldn’t have made it through without your encouragement, even with how determined she is. You know how terrible it felt for her. So, why would she willingly choose to return to a similar sort of place? There has to be something else to this.

“You didn’t go there just as a visit, did you,” the question comes out flatly and more like a statement, which you didn’t intend. It’s not like you’re mad at her or something, but you just don’t like when she hides things from you. It’s not a good feeling at all. And you feel like she is hiding something from you this time.

She looks like she’s going to try to argue with you, but then turns her gaze away from you silently, confirming your suspicions.

“...You aren’t hurt or something, right?” you ask, growing a little worried after the continuous quiet between the two of you. Frisk quickly looks back up at you, shaking her head.

“No, no, nothing like that,” she reassures you, but then stops speaking again when you expect her to continue. You’re not sure if she’s trying to get you to give up and stop asking her about it, that she’s not going to go into detail, or if she’s thinking about what to say to you, but you press her more anyway.

“You don’t have to hide things from me, you know,” you say, trying to figure out what she’s thinking, “I’m still your partner. We’re in this together, remember?”  
The corners of her lips tug upward a bit at that, and although it’s not an actual smile, it still gives you a small bit of relief, but then she sighs and she it’s gone, replaced with a more grim one.

“I know, Chara,” she replies back. You get ready to say something else, but instead she speaks up this time. “Do you know what happened at the beginning of this timeline when I died?”

You momentarily forget that you’re trying to figure out the reasoning behind her actions, your thoughts going back to the blur of scattered memories you have leading up to getting your body back. If getting the answer to that question is what will get her to answer yours, then so be it.

“I guess we haven’t ever really talked about that yet, have we.” You recline back slightly, shifting and crossing your legs. You suppose it just hasn’t really come up, although maybe the two of you should’ve talked about what happened. After all, even though Frisk has died more than a few times, dying isn’t something that gets any easier or less painful or traumatic the more it happens. You sort of actively steered away from the conversation, though—you can recall a few times you’ve thought of bringing it up—just because of the reason that you didn’t want to resurface any feelings of pain or the trauma associated with what had happened. If you knew something of importance, you would’ve mentioned it to her, but really, you’re sort of useless in all of this. You just saw no point in bringing it up when you wouldn’t have the answers she would want. And unfortunately, answers that you still don’t have.

“I don’t really know for sure,” you start honestly, feeling vague echoes of pain throughout your body as you remember trying to get to Frisk, just confirming to you that she was being hurt and she needed your help but not being able to come to her aid or even reach her, trapped somewhere far, far away from her. “After you were abducted, I kind of just… went somewhere else for a while. It was cold and dark, and I couldn’t get to you. I was completely alone. You were so far away. I could still feel our connection, I felt you being hurt, and the last thing I remember is this… _pain_ , an agonizing pain like our soul was literally being torn to pieces, and just reaching out and screaming for you. But, after that, it’s all static until I woke up again in my own body.” You affix your gaze to the table, the recount leaving a bad taste in your mouth. “I know I did _something_. I don’t know exactly what it was, but... I know that it saved you.”

You think about it a little longer, but end up forcing the memories and other speculation of what could’ve happened down, the longer you think about it the, the less sense it makes. You find Frisk staring at you, her expression one of horror and gratitude. It’s a strange mix.

“Chara… oh god, I had no clue that’s what it was like for you, I’m... so sorry,” she whispers, reaching out and grabbing your hands, placing her smaller ones on top of yours. “I won’t ever let you be alone like that again. No one will hurt you like that ever again.”

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised considering that this is Frisk you’re talking about, but once again, you find yourself in slight disbelief of what she’s saying to you. Frisk, tiny little Frisk who flirts with people who try to hurt her, she’s promising to protect you from something she can’t even control. Something that _you_ can’t control. You know she’s afraid as she gives you her word, you can hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes that she’s also afraid of something like that happening again and not being able to stop it, but you can also hear the firmness. See the strength, the courage, the resolution in her unwavering gaze. She’ll really try and protect you from unseen forces, from anything, even if it hurts her. And even if she can’t stop it, she’ll sure as hell try.  

You pull back so you can slip your fingers through hers. Truthfully, you’re afraid of what could happen to the both of you as well. You don’t think it’s a good thing that neither of you really remember what happened between Frisk’s disappearance and her death. You don’t want to be separated from Frisk again. You don’t want to think of the other possibilities.

You are afraid, definitely, but, for some reason… you’re not as scared as you think you should be.

Maybe it’s totally irrational and stupid—well, it is, and you know it is. What Frisk is promising isn’t a promise that she can necessarily keep; there’s far too many variables and things that she can’t control—but you find yourself believing Frisk. Just a little bit.

Maybe something happening is inevitable. _Some_ thing will happen eventually, even if it’s not like what you’re thinking right now. But maybe it will be different than last time. Maybe you’re alright with suffering at some point, as long as you get to come back to Frisk. You’d wait in that dark place for years if that’s what it took to be with her in the end. Maybe it will be different, because now you finally have something you’re living for.

This girl…

Whatever it takes, you’re going to protect her too.

“...So, that’s why you went to the lab?” you ask gently, hating to bring the conversation back to that, but you’d rather not bear the consequences of being ignorant, “to try to find answers?”

“...Yes,” Frisk concurs, “something like that.”

Slowly, she absently pulls her hands back, and you have to resist trying to hold onto them. She places her arms in her lap now, looking down and probably doing that cute thing when she plays with her fingers when she’s nervous. “I want to know what happened, and if not that then how it was possible. I need answers. I can’t let anything else happen to you. Not after I just got you back.”

So that’s it. “You don’t have to do it by yourself,” you try to catch her gaze again, “I’d be happy to help. You can find more with two people, anyway.”

Frisk doesn’t seem to like that idea, though. “But… I don’t want to trouble you or anything, who knows what we could find, you’ve gone through enough already and you shouldn’t have to be worrying about something else so—”

“Frisk,” you interrupt, “you really need to learn how to accept help from other people.”

She doesn’t look up. “Sorry.”

“...And to stop apologizing so much.”

“Sorr—” she begins to say it automatically, then notices her fault and quickly tries to amend but fails again, “so—I mean, um…”

She doesn’t seem to know what to do, making a few frustrated, confused noises before you laugh and tell her to relax. Frisk is so cute. Why does she have to be so cute all the time?

“I’m helping you, whether you like it or not,” you tell her, another laugh rising in your throat when you see her petulant expression upon knowing she’s lost this battle, “besides, I want answers too.”

If anything, her not telling you about her plans just shows that she doesn’t fully trust you yet. You don’t doubt that she did it mostly because she didn’t want to trouble you or put you in harm’s way, that just the type of person Frisk is, but, even if it wasn’t on purpose (possibly unconscious) she didn’t tell you because she doesn’t trust you. You’re sure of it.

You stand up, heading to leave but stopping by her before doing so.

“I’m here for you, Frisk,” you reach over, giving her hair an affectionate ruffle, “no matter what it is that you need. Don’t forget that.”

She may not fully trust you now, but that’s fine. She doesn’t have to. Because one day she will. Even if you have to change yourself. One day, she’ll let you in.

Even if she may never love you, maybe just connecting with her that deeply will be enough. 

At least, you really, really hope so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow a chapter with some actual plot besides the romance plot it's a miracle  
> so, i'm sure some of you have guessed, but from this point on, the story is going to go to darker places from now on. the progression to such will be fairly slow, and of course also filled with fluffery and romance (although, i'm planning to go to some darker places with that as well whoops) along with the actual plot. truthfully, there have been things going on this whole time, but they aren't going to be brought to light until now. so, yeah, i do plan to fully live up to all the fucked up tags i used.  
> next chapters should be delving more into frans territory and school related stuff (ew i know but it had to happen eventually) along to keying into what's actually going on here. although, that probably will take a lot longer for everything to come together and make sense.  
> ik i haven't answer comments in a while, and i hate to keep putting it off, but it's really late rn, so... i'll try my best to get around to it tomorrow.  
> stay warm, everyone~


	19. For Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you sure you can handle this?” Flowey asks. You glance up at him. “I mean, it seems to me like you’re biting off a bit more than you can chew, here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i downed like an entire bottle of dayquil before writing this, so if some of it seems a little off, that could be why (there's something really bad going around right now, stay healthy you guys)  
> happy second month of the year?? we've made it one month into 2018 at least  
> also, we reached 200 comments as well?? thank you guys so much!! it's so crazy that it'll be a year since i published this on the 20th. i kinda wish i could do something special but idrk of anything to do haha. but either way, i wouldn't have gotten this far without the support from everyone. so, once again, thanks to everyone who gives kudos and comments and even just is along for the ride. i appreciate every single one of you <3  
> anyway, have this
> 
> this chapter starts in frisk's pov.

Unsurprisingly, you’re up late again, sleepless. Although, this time, maybe you should’ve been prepared after the day’s events.

You’re not sure what to make of all of it. 

First, what you know about SOULs so far. You have the books, and of course you haven’t read them yet since you haven’t had the time, but what you heard from Alphys does sort of change the game. You didn’t really have a set plan in the first place for giving Asriel his soul back—you still don’t—but now with what you know, quite a few possibilities are ruled out. 

And, of course, you’re occupied with what else you found at the lab. 

You really hope that that child from that report isn’t dead. You keep trying to think of other explanations, and some of them sort of make some sense, but this is someone’s  _ life _ . Even if there’s a good chance it isn’t true, there’s still a  _ chance _ and there shouldn’t be even the tiniest one at all. Although you know nothing about them, they were just a kid. They hadn’t even lived for a  _ decade _ . Only eight years.  _ Eight. _ They couldn’t have done anything to have warranted the fate they had received. You don’t want to even think about what could’ve been done to them. You just hope that it _ isn’t real.  _

And then…

That presence you felt. 

Thinking back to it makes you involuntarily shudder. You grasp the blanket around the lower part of your body and pull it higher until it reaches your chin. You know you felt something. It wasn’t just your imagination. Something was  _ touching _ you, you could  _ feel _ it, but…

There was no one there. 

It was just you and Flowey. And it obviously wasn’t him. 

And if you’re not imagining it, then…

What  _ was _ that? What could it have been?

You sigh, burying your face in the blanket now, not wanting to take the chance of seeing something in the dark. You’re sure even if anything wasn’t actually there, your overactive mind would create something. You don’t want to think about it anymore.

You roll over onto your side. You have to find a way to save Asriel. You’re going to. Just…

This is going to be really hard. 

You knew that from the start, of course it wouldn’t be easy, if it was then he would’ve been brought back already with how many people cared about him so much, but… you guess you’ve just never thought about it directly. You haven’t been faced head on with bringing him back until now.

You’ll find a way. You’ll bring him back. You will. You have to.

Even if it’s impossible…

You’ve done the impossible before.

With that in mind, you turn over again, trying to get comfortable. You don’t know if your thoughts will ever leave you alone, but you close your eyes and try to sleep anyway, telling yourself that maybe when you wake up you’ll have some sort of inkling of where to even begin with Asriel.

You end up beginning to go through ways you think you could save him, even with your lack of information, which makes it just that much more difficult. You don’t finish though, because at some point, probably after being up for about an hour or so just trying to think, you finally end up drifting off to sleep.

### Chapter Nineteen: For Now

You’re only asleep for three hours or so before you wake up to the familiar tightness of anxiety in your chest and your stomach, although this time, it’s accompanied with murmurs of voices outside of your door.

It seems Frisk had another nightmare again.

You’re up and out of your bed as soon as that thought crosses your mind, carelessly righting your clothes and pushing your hair out of your face as you walk out of your room. For the past few days, Frisk has actually been doing okay in terms of sleep. Her nightmares have been fairly spread out, occuring in no particular pattern every other day. It’s been a while since she’s had one, actually; they calmed down a bit for the last few days. You almost thought maybe they’d stop, at least for a while. That Frisk would finally get a break. You didn’t want them to be an ongoing thing for her. She has enough to deal with as it is.

At this point, you’re really starting to think maybe just sleeping in her room would be the best course of action. You already practically sleep in there anyway, going in every few days and staying with her until she falls asleep. You know that you haven’t just given in and done it for a reason, you don’t know how well you could control yourself and you don’t think you could get much sleep staying with her for so long so close every night, but you’re starting to feel like that doesn’t matter as much. You’d force yourself to bare with it for long enough if it’d help her. This is just too much for her to have to go through.

You reach out to grab the door and pull it open, but it’s already open when you reach it. Fortunately, your eyes are adjusted to the darkness by now, and you can see mom bent over by the bed, holding a shivering Frisk in her arms. This is new. You don’t think mom has ever been woken up by Frisk, which you guess now that you’re thinking about it is a little surprising, but then again, mom’s room is at the end of the hall, a fair distance from Frisk’s and a lot further than the distance between the both your rooms, and it’s not like Frisk is especially loud. Normally, you’re woken up by your ability to sometimes feel her emotions through your connection, the fear that she feels being strong enough to bring you to consciousness. Actually, Frisk is really quiet when she cries… 

Mom doesn’t notice your entrance until you approach the both of them. She glances at you for a quick second, looking a bit startled and quite helpless, before turning her attention back to Frisk when she mumbles something. Mom doesn’t seem to understand and neither do you, stroking a hand along her hair and trying to comfort her.

“I promise that everything is alright, my child,” she says gently, but you can hear the hint of nervous desperation growing in her tone. “What can I do to make it better, baby? Please, talk to me.”   


“S-Sans,” you manage to make out, and instantly feel your disdain rising, “please… call him. I—” she gasps quietly, “I need him. Please.”

Mom looks a little confused by that reply, and you both exchange glances, but she doesn’t say no. You almost wish she would, tell Frisk that it’s too late or something, but being the kind mother she is, of course she wouldn’t do that. You have to restrain yourself from sighing. You privately hope Sans won’t answer his phone. You really don’t want to have to deal with that right now. 

“Go on,” you say to mom, “I’ll take care of Frisk, okay?”

She thanks you, gently pulling away from Frisk and exiting the room. You turn to the small, shaking girl in front of you, sitting on the edge of the bed and opening your arms to her. 

She promptly accepts the embrace, leaning into your chest and holding on tightly. You close your eyes, rubbing your hand up and down her back, whispering quiet reassurances to her. 

“Whatever you saw, it’s not real,” you murmur into her hair, the scent of her shampoo almost making you smile if it weren’t for the circumstances, “not in this timeline.”

That seems to work at least a little bit, so you keep going. You begin to go on about all the good things she’s done, all the people she’s saved, the fact that everyone’s alive during this timeline and that’s not going to change anytime soon. And you find yourself wishing that you could reach down and kiss her, kiss her all over her face and kiss her until she forgets about everything. Until she feels better. Until she’s convinced just how precious and valued she is. 

You settle on just running your hands through her hair and drawing shapes on her back, though. You feel like you could comfort her better if you could do that, that it would be a more effective way of calming her down, but this will have to do for now. You wish there was more that you could do—you’re  _ not _ going to let Sans be better at comforting her than you are. 

Once again, you’re reminded that she requested his presence, and you have to wonder why. Is it because she dreamt about him? Or is it because he can provide for her better than you?

You don’t like the thought of that at all, and you cease your motions for a moment. What is it that he does better than you? What does she see in him? 

You don’t have time to ask (not like you were actually planning on it or anything, you wouldn’t ask something like, especially not right now), however, because mom walks into the room again, taking a seat on the other side of Frisk. 

“He’s coming, my baby,” she says to Frisk, rubbing her shoulder. You inwardly groan. 

You know you should be glad if that’s what will make Frisk feel better, but you just can’t find it in yourself to do so. Your hatred for the comedian outweighs any small amount of decency remaining in yourself. You want to be the one who Frisk goes to when she needs to be comforted. You want to be the best at comforting her. You want to be the only one comforting her.

You don’t want her to want  _ anyone _ else, to need anyone else but you. 

It’s disgustingly selfish, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You care too much about Frisk to care about whether or not it’s right. 

Frisk almost cheers up a little at the news, pulling back from you and wiping her eyes. “Thank you,” she says to mom, and then gives you a tiny, unsteady smile, “and… thank you too, Chara.” 

It warms you a bit, but it fades all too soon, and she looks away. “I… I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.”

“Don’t be,” you reply quickly, reaching out and running your thumb across her cheek. You hate seeing her like this, definitely, she doesn’t deserve any of it, but… you’d be lying if you said you don’t enjoying taking care of her. You plan to continue, but mom practically takes the words right out of your mouth.

“We just want you to be happy, Frisk,” she says, placing a hand on Frisk’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, the surprised but affectionate look in her eyes warming your heart, and you caress her skin once again, “we just want you to be happy.”

* * *

 You wait in your room by yourself for Sans, Toriel going downstairs to greet him and Chara reluctantly following after you assure her you’re okay to be alone for a few minutes. You feel bad about suddenly requesting someone to come over so late—you feel bad about waking all of them up in the first place. They shouldn’t have to deal with you—but you _need_ to see Sans. You need to talk to him, you need to apologize, you need to make sure he’s okay…!

You sit up straight, trying to steady your breathing. What you dreamt of, it was disjointed and disorganized, and you think you could connect each scene if you tried, but… it was gruesome. More gruesome than your other dreams. Or… your memories.

It makes you feel slightly sick to think any of that could’ve happened. Even if it was a while ago, it… it shouldn’t have happened  _ ever. _ None of this should’ve happened. No one should’ve died, no one should’ve been hurt, there shouldn’t be  _ so many  _ timelines—

“kiddo?”

You look up to the doorway, your eyes falling on Sans. He’s standing there, looking at you concernedly, and he’s okay.  _ He’s okay. _

His name is on your tongue but you don’t even think to say it, leaping up and grasping his jacket, running your hands along it to make sure he’s real. You exhale a sigh of a relief, and then practically collapse into him, forgetting about everything else for a moment. He’s here. He’s okay. Sans is here. Sans is okay.

“You’re okay,” you say out loud, your mantra getting lost somewhere between your repeating it in your mind. You feel bony hands on your shoulders and you reluctantly let yourself be pulled back.

Sans studies you, the lights in his sockets flickering over your face. He seems a bit confused with your statement and the way you’re acting, and you suddenly realize how weird you’re being. You try to pull away, but he keeps you where you are, and so you give up and remain in place, not able to look him in the eye anymore with the proximity.

“‘course i’m okay. what, are you disappointed?” His tone is airy, but his expression doesn’t match. He loses the timbre when he speaks again, though. “had another bad dream, huh.” 

You think it was supposed to be a question, but he says it too flatly for it to sound like one. “About… the other timelines,” you confirm slowly, swallowing hard and burying the images of your dream that threaten to surface. You don’t want to make him mad. He already seems irritated. You should’ve just sucked it up and went back to sleep. You didn’t have to drag him here. But… you just had to know he was okay. “Sans, I’m—”

You begin to say sorry but stop when sighs, pulling away from you momentarily, and you almost think he’s going to leave, but instead he just closes the door, and then enfolds you in an embrace. 

Your eyes widen, and you make a small noise of surprise, not expecting the sudden hug. But, you’re not complaining. You hug him back, his strange warmth comforting you. Even though you don’t think you should’ve made him come, you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Not when he’s holding you like this.

“i should’ve told ya this earlier, but on the off chance it wouldn’t happen, i didn’t want to scare ya,” he begins, shifting slightly and resting his chin on top of your head. 

“dreams and nightmares tend to be a side effect of the resets. a lot of previous timelines you remember in your subconscious. ‘s kinda like your mind tryin’ to make sense of all your memories being scrambled. your brain can’t differentiate between what’s really happened this time round and what’s happened another reset or so ago.”

He explains this to you calmly, giving you a bit of closure. At least you know that it’s normal.

“to tell you the truth, kid…” he trails off, as if rethinking whether or not to go on, but then he takes a deep breath and continues. “i even have nightmares, too, sometimes.” 

...Oh. 

You weren’t expecting that.

Of course, it makes sense, especially since he’s also aware of the RESETs. Even more than you are, to an extent (which is weird because you cause them), if he remembers all of them. No wonder he’d dream about them too. You guess you never thought about it. You assumed he just remembered all of it. But maybe his memories are a bit disjointed and fragmented as well. Depending on how many RESETs there have been… oh  _ god, _ just how many  _ have _ there been? 

“i  _ completely understand _ how you feel,” he says, in that knowing voice you’ve heard him use sometimes. He sounds so tired… 

You relax a little again. He’s gone through the exact same thing, huh… 

It’s nice to have someone who understands. Who gets it. It makes you feel a lot less alone. And a little less scared.

Of course, then you remember it’s  _ your fault _ that either of you have nightmares in the first place, and the moment of slight calm is gone again. 

_ It’s probably you he dreams about.  _

That makes you feel slightly sick and ancy and anxious all over again, and you really have no idea what to say, because how can you even compensate in the  _ slightest _ for what you did? 

You retract yourself from his arms, abruptly feeling confined within them even if you enjoy being close to him. Quickly, you begin apologizing again, knowing it’s in vain and they’re just words and you’re not doing anything, apologies aren’t going to clean the blood and dust off of your hands and erase the lasting trauma of what you had done, but you just have no  _ idea _ of what there is that you can do and it makes you feel even worse  _ so you just do it anyway _ , “Sans, I’m s—” 

“c’mon, now,” he stops you straightaway, “what have i said about apologies?” 

You close your mouth, finding the floor interesting to look at. What else are you supposed to say, though? What else can you do? How can you possibly fix this? Obviously there’s nothing that can really, truly take back any of it, but you want to do  _ something _ to help. Not only because you care about Sans and he shouldn’t have to live with the trauma and of course you didn’t want to hurt him in the first place, you never would, he’s precious to you, but you also think that if you don’t do something, anything, that this guilt is going to kill you. And it’s only a matter of time. 

Even though Sans just told you that nightmares are a common effect of RESETs, that  _ still _ doesn’t really explain why you’re having them  _ now _ . Why not when you were in the Underground? Did you maybe have some down there as well but you just didn’t remember?

You guess now that you think about it, the rare times you did get to sleep long enough to dream, you recall vaguely waking up to a start sometimes. But you don’t really think it was because you had a bad dream. Sometimes you’d hear a voice when you slept. One that wasn’t Chara’s. You’re pretty sure that’s what had you freaked out a lot of the times.

Either way, it’s just sort of like… your past coming back to haunt you. The repercussions of what you did, even if it wasn’t really  _ you _ . No action is without consequence. 

You feel like it’s some sort of way of your subconscious telling you to somehow make amends. To do something to ease your crippling guilt before it overcomes you.

And if you’re feeling this bad, this guilty about everything… you can’t even imagine how it must feel for Sans. 

There’s no way that he could have forgiven you. You wouldn’t expect him to. You can’t even forgive _yourself_. He _has_ to hold some amount of animosity and bitterness towards you. He’s practically forced to deal with you—someone who had to have slaughtered his friends and family _and_ _him_ countless times, and even now, when he’s gotten away from all of that, he still can’t get over it because he dreams about it. Dreams about _you._ Resetting and taking all of this away from him after all the hard work all of you put into it—after how _long_ it’s been, murdering his brother and blowing the dust, killing each and every single one of his friends, coming back over and over and over and until you could kill him as well. He had no chance against you. Not with your ability. 

And yet, here he stands, still staying beside you even though he  _ could _ leave. Still coming to comfort you even after all that you’ve done. In the dead of night, too. Probably when he has things to do. You can’t imagine he likes leaving his brother alone more than he has to. He’s here with you, sharing a more vulnerable aspect of himself with you. Even if he doesn’t trust you, he’s still willing to do that.

And you’re glad he’s told you. You’re so happy that he’s at least  _ trying _ to trust you. Trying to give you a second chance. You wouldn’t want him to be suffering right under your nose and not know about it. You don’t want him to suffer alone or in silence anymore. You want to be there for him. For him to be able to rely on you. To trust you. You want to help him. And not just so you can fix your mistakes, but also because you care. A lot, actually.

_...Maybe…  _

You both dream, don’t you? Maybe even about similar events. You’re both in the same predicament. 

“Hey,” you start softly, “since you have nightmares as well, and I do too… why don’t we, I don’t know, like… confide in each other? We’re going through pretty much the same thing, right? I think…” you manage a small smile, “maybe, we could help each other. What do you say?”

He takes a moment before speaking, maybe thinking over your proposal to him. His expression is calm, and… full of what looks like care. You like the feeling of it directed towards you. “you know,” he says, “you can confide in me about anything, sweetheart.”

You move your palms down against the material of his hoodie, remembering that you’re still clutching onto his jacket. You know you can. You trust Sans, and the two of you are quite close, but… you still don’t know that much about each other. This whole RESET and timeline situation has been the first time the two of you actually  _ have  _ confided in each other about something. 

You’ve never actually told him anything very personal to you, have you?

You two are definitely good friends, but, when it comes down to it... you really know nothing about each other.

You squeeze the fabric underneath your palms slightly. That makes you sad. In all this time that you’ve known each other (probably  _ at least  _ a year if you add all the RESETs) you’ve never actually taken the time to try to get to know one another. 

Well, maybe  _ that’s _ not true. You tried. You know you did. But whenever you asked him something personal, it seemed like he’d always direct the topic to something else, never really answering your question. You didn’t push, either, because you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable or  _ force _ him to tell you things about himself. You wanted to know, you still do, but you want him to  _ want _ to tell you. You want him to do it willingly. You almost wish that he’d come to you without you even having to ask or prompt him, but you figure that’s unrealistic. He’s not that type of person, you don’t think. Don’t ask don’t tell, or whatever.

But, you suppose that you’re sort of like that, too. You don’t tell others about your problems or your personal stuff unless it directly affects them or they ask you. And maybe that’s why you’ve both gone so long without actually getting to know each other. Maybe you just never really got the chance. 

Or, maybe he’s never wanted to get to know you after what you’ve done. He probably didn’t trust you enough. He may still not.

That revelation stings too, but once again, you understand. There’s nothing you can do to earn his full trust back. 

...Truthfully, he’ll probably never trust you. 

You know that. You don’t like it, it hurts you, but you accept it.

But, even so…

“I…” you find yourself saying, not being able to look him in the eye, “you can confide in me about anything, too. I…” you squeeze the material in your fingers a little harder, “really want to be that sort of person to you.”

You say that last part a lot quieter, and you’re not sure if he heard you or not, but you guess it doesn’t really matter. What you want is selfish and entirely unlikely, and you shouldn’t have voiced it anyway.

Just… 

Thinking about a future where you and Sans remain close but still so far apart, one where you never really get to know each other, where you’re nothing more than just some kid that he has to watch over… 

You don’t want that. You really, really don’t. 

Even if the odds are against you, you want to try. Even if it’s selfish to want this, you can’t help it. 

“I know you don’t trust me,” you continue, unable to keep your thoughts to yourself anymore, “I broke your trust far too many times and I’ll probably never get it back. What I did… it was absolutely horrific. And that’s just what I know of. But… I still want to try to make it up to you.” You smile at the ground. “I… I  _ really _ care about you, you know? Even if you can’t ever trust me again, I want to do everything I can for you.”

“frisk.” He says your name, and it catches you off guard. You’re still not used to him calling you Frisk. You glance back up at him. “i know that’s not who you are. you’re a good person.” He shifts his weight onto one side, leaning back on his heels. “and... i  _ do _ trust you.”

You don’t think you heard that right. You force yourself to not speak, waiting for him to either correct himself or contradict what you think you just heard, but he doesn’t. 

“You… trust me?” you repeat, “after everything that I did…?”

“i told you,” he says calmly, like he’s completely sure of himself. He closes his eyes. “i know that you aren’t that person. you’re both two separate people. you’ve proven yourself to be trustworthy.”

After everything, he still chooses to trust you…

_ Sans, he’s… he’s a really strong person isn’t he? _

“Sans,” you breathe, tugging on his jacket to get his attention, “I’m so happy that you’re with me.”

You think that maybe takes him aback a little, judging from the change of his expression, but he quickly grins at you. “likewise, sweetheart.”

Your heart warms when he uses that nickname again. You step back a little, turning to the window. It almost looks light outside. You really hope it isn’t that early already and it’s just the snow reflecting on the sky and making it look lighter than it actually is, but you can’t particularly tell from here. Snowy nights are always beautiful. “Do you think maybe… this timeline will be better? Everything will end up okay?”

He ponders it for a moment, and you grow a little worried, enough to look back at him, but to your surprise, his face is completely serene. Almost… hopeful. He catches your gaze. “yeah. i do. with you here, frisk, i really do.”

That makes your heart soar. You feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes, but you blink them away. He believes in you. It’s so rare that you hear things like this. 

“I…” you come closer again, so close that your chest is touching his. Normally, you think you’d be flustered by it, but you’re too happy and determined right now to care too much. “I promise I’ll make this time better, Sans. This will be best timeline yet. I’ll…” 

You look him straight in the eye. “I’ll get us  _ all _ our happy ending. And this time, it’s going to last.” You get the urge to touch his face, but resist. The way he’s looking at you is enough. “I promise.”

You feel a hand in your hair, massaging it gently. You feel the self-consciousness and embarrassment you were blocking come rushing back at the action. “i know you will, sweetheart,” he says, his smooth fingertips brushing against your scalp, “i know you will.”

* * *

You lean against the doorframe of Frisk’s room, watching her chest rise and fall evenly through the small crack of the ajar door, her face illuminated by the dim light shining through the window. She seems to be undisturbed, her body stock still under the covers aside from her quiet breathing. The sight relaxes you slightly, even bringing a small smile to your lips. She seems at peace for now. 

You’re quite tempted to walk in and get into bed with her, to hold her close and smooth out her hair and make sure she continues to rest peacefully, and you think you may actually do it, what does it really matter at this point, right? But then you hear footsteps across from you, and you quickly forget those thoughts, straightening up and grasping for the doorknob, turning to face the new presence.

“Good morning, Chara,” Mom greets you, her gaze switching from you to your hand slowly pulling the door closed. You let go, crossing your arms and turning away from the still half-open door. There’s a hint of amusement to her tone when she speaks again. “Checking on Frisk, are you?”

You take a few steps away from the room, not wanting to talk too close to it in fear of possibly waking Frisk up. That’s exactly what you were doing, if not also for your own personal desire to simply see her and be close to her, but you’re not going to admit that.  “...I suppose.”

She steps beside you, pushing the door open a bit further to get a better look, thankfully not saying anything else on the matter. She observes her for a moment, seeming to wait to see if she stirs, a lot like you did. You feel a little less creepy about watching her sleep now.

“I worry about her,” Mom admits suddenly, still looking at Frisk, surprising you slightly. You do too, you really do, but once again, you’re not about to say something like that, even if it is to your mother. “I wonder what exactly it is that has her shaken up so badly. She has not spoken about it.” 

She sounds distressed, and you feel a bit of guilt considering that you know  _ exactly _ what she has nightmares about. But that’s not something you can share with mom, and you hope that she won’t ask you about it. You and Frisk haven’t really worked out what you’re going to tell other people about all of this.

“Perhaps it is the life she had before,” she continues, and this time, you don’t know if she is correct in her inference or not. “As I have thought about it, I really do not know much about what Frisk’s life was like before. I know it is not fair to judge knowing close to nothing, but all I can remember about first seeing Frisk was how thin and scared she was, and I cannot help but think maybe it was not the best environment. Maybe that is why she has not spoken about it.”

That description sounds familiar. Scared and thin. It’s sad that those were the first two things to be noticed about her. 

You’d be inclined to agree that Frisk’s surface life was probably not the greatest. From the way she acts, especially with her strange eating habits and the fact that she wouldn’t even verbally speak for a while after she fell, not to mention the scars…

You almost forgot about the scars. You  _ know _ that they’re not all from the Underground. Mom really doesn’t know about those, you guess. You think if she did, she’d be fully convinced that someone who Frisk was previously living with mistreated her. You pretty much are.

You haven’t really had that much of a drive to figure out exactly what kind of life she had before she fell previously, figuring that she’d tell you when she’s ready, but maybe it’s best for you to know sooner than you originally thought. 

“She hasn’t told me, either,” you say quietly. All that you really have to go off of is from a blurry memory of her ducking out of the way of some sort of empty glass bottle that was thrown at her that had flashed through your link when you asked her how she got so good at dodging. You sort of wished you had more of those kinds of things to go off of now, although that was in the beginning when the two of you were still learning how to keep boundaries between your thoughts. Maybe if you had known earlier that she went through something traumatic (she had to have, and you’re reluctant to find out exactly how traumatic it was), and that she was similar to you in that aspect, you two really weren’t that different, maybe you wouldn’t have been so cruel to her…

“I...” you frown, troubled by what might have happened to her, “I think that you are right, mother.”

Mom hums softly in response, glancing over Frisk once more with an expression of deep thought. You can tell that she’s also bothered by the possibility of Frisk having some sort of traumatic life, and even more so by not knowing what happened for sure. Seemingly deciding that she’s not going to get any answers by gazing at her, she slowly and quietly closes the door. 

Normally, mom doesn’t like for you and Frisk to sleep in that often. You remember her saying once that it’s a bad habit, and can mess up your sleep schedule if done frequently enough. But, you guess she understands that Frisk needs the extra sleep this time.

The both of you go downstairs. Usually, now would be when you’d fix breakfast (if you’re not making it yourself, you often help out), but since Frisk isn’t up yet and you’re not sure when she will be, you wait around a little. Instead, you fix yourself some tea, grasping the warm cup in both hands and leaning against the edge of the counter. 

“You really care for Frisk, do you not?” 

You almost jump a little at that, your grip on the ceramic in your fingers tightening. You make sure to keep your voice steady as not to stutter. “What makes you think that?”

Her eyebrows furrow slightly, and she gives you a look that pretty much tells you how obvious your affinity towards Frisk is, but still explains anyway. “Well,” she starts, walking over to you, “you have claimed a strong hatred for humans in the past—and I know that you do hold that animosity, yet, even though it must be hard for you, you still care for Frisk. She is the only human with which you are so close with.”

You rub the surface of the cup that you’re holding, staring at the ground. You feel hot, but know it’s not because of the warmth it’s emitting. “You act different around her,” she observes, going on much to your dismay, “you are much more… vibrant. You smile a lot, and you tend to be more talkative.” You feel her looking at you, studying you, you think, which makes you all the more nervous, and you don’t move your gaze from the floor. She doesn’t seem to expect you to. “Before you had met Frisk, when it was just you and Asriel”—your body unintentionally goes rigid at the name, and she notices—”oh, ah... I am sorry for bringing him up. I know that it is still a painful subject. It is just… you acted a lot similarly with him.” 

She looks away from you, turning her head to the window behind the both of you, and you warily bring your head back up. She shouldn’t be feeling bad for  _ you. _ It’s still a painful subject for everyone involved. He was  _ her son _ . 

...You do know what she means, though. You do vaguely remember acting differently around him.

He was the first real, true friend you ever had. Your first best friend. 

Frisk is your first girl best friend. And… your first love. 

You loved Asriel too, though, didn’t you? 

Well,  _ of course _ you did. You cared so, so much. More than you felt you should’ve let yourself. He made you really happy, and you wanted to make him happy too. He was so pure, so good. You wanted to protect him. 

A lot like you do with Frisk.

Did you love him like you love Frisk? 

You’re inclined to say no, but… you really don’t know for sure. You were young. It was a while ago. You know Frisk definitely isn’t some sort of replacement or some way to make up what you felt you fucked up—that’s not it at all. They’re two separate people and you know that. And even if they may be similar in some aspects, Frisk is actually a lot different from Asriel if you think about it. You still regret everything, and you still miss him, definitely ( _ so much _ ), but… Frisk is Frisk, and if given the opportunity, you wouldn’t trade her for him. 

You guess… it doesn’t really matter though, because you’ll never be able to find out how you truly felt.

Or, maybe not. After all, Frisk is determined to bring him back. Even if that’s probably not possible. She has a way of doing things that aren’t supposed to be able to be done, though. Maybe... someday you’ll know. 

“But, the person you were then and the person you are now… you are different,” Mom notes, bringing you out of your ponderings, “Happier, I believe. You have changed since you met her. In good ways as well, I think.” 

You had begun staring out the window too, not really paying attention to what you were looking at, though, and you just now notice that mom has brought her gaze back to your face. Slightly startled, you make eye contact with her, and you instantly regret it. “You like Frisk. A lot.”

This time, it isn’t even a question. It’s a statement.

You swallow hard. You  _ do  _ like Frisk. _ A lot. _

_ Just not in the way you’re thinking, mom. _

You don’t know why you don’t want to admit it. You already admitted it to yourself, that’s the worst there is, right? Why is it so hard to just say it?

But maybe it  _ is _ hard, possibly even harder to admit to other people. Because saying the words makes it feel real. It puts it out into the universe. Instead of it just being a thought, it breathes life into it and makes it a thing. It puts a meaning to something abstract and solidifies it.

But, it’s not like by agreeing you’d be saying your true feelings. That’s not what mom is asking. God, at least you  _ hope _ it isn’t. That wouldn’t be good. That’s a whole other situation that you don’t have a night of staying up and going over possible outcomes and how to respond to them in preparation that you don’t have yet. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be all that surprising, though. Toriel can be scarily perceptive when she wants to be. Especially when it comes to her kids. 

But, it’s only been a few days. She couldn’t have picked up on it  _ that _ fast, right?

Although, you  _ have _ loved Frisk for a while, just not admitting it to yourself. What if she knew before you did? That would be rather ironic. 

In any case, there wouldn’t be a point to lying to her or something of that sort. It  _ is _ true, you do like Frisk— _ a lot _ —and although you wouldn’t admit your true feelings to mom or to anyone until you got the nerve up to tell Frisk herself (which,  _ who knows _ how long that may be)—you’ll just let her figure that out on her own, if she does. She probably will at some point—you just can’t get yourself to do it. The words won’t come. 

So, instead you say, “‘like’ is such a strong word…”

Which ends up backfiring for you, because mom calls you on your obvious bluff. “But you have strong feelings toward her.”

Yes,  _ yes you do.  _ Stronger than “liking”, even.

Having no response to that, and no further arguments (you can’t prove anything she said wrong because all of it is true) you unwillingly semi-agree (the best that she’s going to get out of you). “ _Fine,_ I… do not dislike Frisk.”

The smile on her face is too knowing for your liking. “And?”

“I…” you sigh, the words still hard to get past your tongue, “I  _ like _ Frisk. We are  _ friends. _ ”

Toriel nods approvingly. You think that’s the first time you’ve said that out loud. It feels sort of nice to actually say it, to tell someone, and to establish that you two are close, even if you’re not as close as you’d to be. But you also hate it. You hate it much, much more. 

“ _Ew,_ I hated that,” you cringe, not mentioning that _you’d_ _like to be much, much more than just friends with Frisk_. “Suddenly, I don’t feel like drinking the rest of this.”

You turn towards the sink, pouring out the remains of the tea you were drinking. Which, isn’t that much, fortunately, and mom can’t really scold you for wasting. 

She looks rather amused with your reaction, however, and her smile still has that eerie sense of  _ knowing _ that you  _ hate _ and you think she may try to get more out of you, but she’s satisfied with that for now and doesn’t. “It makes me happy that you two have a good relationship,” she says instead, and of course she would be, “I am so proud of how much you have grown, Chara.”

You manage to smile a little at that, letting yourself calm down again. “Thank you, mother.”

“Frisk cares for you deeply as well,” she adds, sounding completely sure of it. And that is true, you know. You’ve seen the way Frisk looks at you, sometimes. Like you’re some sort of goddess or something. It makes you feel special. You like it. But, you’re afraid that she doesn’t care for you nearly as much as you care for her. You  _ love _ her. You’re afraid that she doesn’t love you. “A lot more than you know.”

You freeze. You weren’t expecting her to say that. Almost as if in response to your thoughts. 

You fold your hands together behind your back. It’s always nice to think about; the possibility of Frisk feeling the same as you. 

“Maybe so,” you find yourself replying absently. Could something like that, something that would quite probably make your whole life… could it even be possible?

“She does,” she insists, “you make each other happy. You complete each other.” She smiles. “I could not have asked for better children.”

There’s a small period of silence where you’re pondering over her words, trying to think of something to say, but end up getting distracted by the whole conversation. You don’t have time to say anything, though, because she speaks before you get the chance. 

“Now,” she says, turning and taking a deep breath, “I am going to begin making breakfast. If Frisk is not down by the time it is ready, then I will save some for her.”

You nod. That sounds like a good plan. You like that better than having to wake her up and possibly interrupting the only good sleep she’s gotten the whole night. “Alright. I’ll help.”

You begin, getting out plates and silverware and turning on the stove while she searches for food and ingredients. Although, the whole time your mind is elsewhere, filled with thoughts of mom and what she knows about your wishes, Asriel, your feelings, telling Frisk about your feelings, and, of course, Frisk herself. 

That’s just typical, though. 

 

 

 

 

You’re not sure when Frisk does wake up, but it’s sometime after you’re done eating because she comes to see you.

“Chara?” you hear her call, peeking her head through the door. “Can I come in?”

You focus your attention back to the current task your trying to accomplish. “Go ahead.”

She comes inside, closing the door, a sign that you’ve noticed normally means she’s going to talk to you about something. Thankfully, though, she doesn’t seem in a particularly bad mood or such, so you don’t think whatever’s on her mind is something to be worried about. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, slowly sitting beside you as if silently asking if it was okay. You really don’t know why she still bothers at this point, especially with such small things as that, but you definitely appreciate it nonetheless. 

You hold up the small piece of fabric that you had been working on for her to see, and her eyes widen a bit in amazement. “You can knit?”

“This is crochet, but yes, I can knit too,” you reply, dropping the needles and setting them aside to give her your full attention. She doesn’t seem to want to move on just yet though, impressed by such a small thing.

“You’re so talented, Chara,” she says earnestly, and you guess it would make sense for her to be impressed by something like that. When you learned how to knit and crochet, it was more of a commonplace thing, but now you don’t think it’s much like that anymore. Then again, Frisk is actually quite easy to please, so you think she’d probably be more or less impressed regardless. 

“Maybe I could teach you sometime,” you offer, to which she nods eagerly to. 

“Yeah! That would be fun,” her enthusiasm fades a little, “um… I’m not sure how good I’d be at it though. I’m… not that great with my hands.”

“You are quite the klutz,” you state maybe a bit too bluntly, because Frisk laughs nervously.

“Haha, yeah…” you think you see her frown slightly, “I am.”

You don’t like it. It feels like she’s comparing herself to you and you’re not better than her in any way. Even if you do it yourself, you hate when she puts herself down. “It’s cute, though.” 

That flusters her, expectedly, but it’s an improvement. You smile a little. “Did you want to talk about something?”

She blinks and straightens up, as if she just remembered something. “Oh! Right. I did. Ah…” 

Her mood visibly drops, even if by a small amount. Maybe you were wrong about this being something bad. “Is something the matter?” 

She begins to say no, but stops and trails off before sighing. “Well, let’s just say that I have good and bad news, I guess.” 

At least it’s not all bad, you suppose. You shift a bit to get more comfortable and nod to tell her you’re listening. She moves too, pulling her legs up and crossing them.

“Good news first,” she says, clasping her hands together and smiling, “I convinced mom to let me officially be a full time ambassador.”

Oh. You weren’t really expecting anything, but that is kind of surprising. The fact that mom would even agree to that, you mean. 

You didn’t know Frisk wasn’t an “official” and “full time” ambassador already, but you think you know what she means. Mom and her never really had a full discussion about her being an ambassador and the limitations of what she would do and be able to do. After all, Frisk hasn’t done all that much ambassadorial stuff lately. The biggest thing she’s really done was that speech. Not that you’re complaining or anything, a part of you thinks it may be better that way and you wouldn’t want too much stress to be put on her, and you’re pretty sure mom feels similarly. You don’t think she ever liked the idea, either. You’re not sure if she ever actually approved. Well, until now it seems. 

“How did you manage that?” you ask, truly impressed by her persuasion skills. You know that Frisk can be quite persuasive when she wants to be, but convincing your mother with such a topic when she was probably strongly against it… you know Frisk is determined, but damn. 

Frisk shrugs, not seeming to know that what she did is a fairly big accomplishment. “I’m not sure? I honestly didn’t think she would even compromise with me, but… Maybe she realized it was something I wouldn’t give up on. I don’t know.” She also sounds genuinely confused, but satisfied as well, messing with the blankets on your bed as she speaks. “Basically, the deal is that if it becomes too much for me or if something really bad happens, then I have to step down. I had to really convince her, though. There might’ve been a  _ bit _ of begging involved.” 

She appears a bit embarrassed at that (or maybe guilty), but you don’t say anything. Although begging is normally a mother’s weakness coming from her children, when mom is really set on something, she’s immune. You know from experience. Frisk pushes herself further onto the bed until her back meets the wall, uncrossing her legs and straightening them out in front of her.

“She said she couldn’t say no to me when I had such a determined look on my face,” she says, and you just can’t help but chuckle a bit at that, because  _ wow _ do you relate.

“I know the exact look she’s talking about,” you explain when Frisk glances at you, leaning forward towards her a bit. “Your eyebrows furrow and you tend to bring your hands up to your chest and ball them into fists, and you get this… twinkle in your eyes,” you recall the many times you’ve seen her look like that, one of the more notable when she promised to get you all a happy ending. The way her eyes shone was beautiful. “It’s pretty much impossible to tell you no when you do it.”

She blushes a little, and you reach out to gently scratch her cheek. “You’re  _ way _ too cute for your own good, you know that?”

She ducks away from you, pushing your hand away, but she’s smiling. “I-I’m that not cute!”   


“Oh, no. We are  _ not _ getting into that argument,” you drop your hand, crossing your arms sternly. “You  _ know  _ you’ll lose.”   


“Whatever,” she retorts playfully, but you think it’s more because she has something else to say rather than backing down. You know she’d argue with you about it. But whether she thinks so or not, once again, she’d lose. 

But, before she moves on to this “bad news”, you do want to make something clear.

“But… is being the ambassador full time… is that what you want to do, Frisk?” She takes a moment, but after taking a long inhale, she nods.

“Yes,” she answers, and it’s genuine, “it is. I… want to change the world, for the better. And I want to keep everyone safe and happy as best I can. I think, because of my situation, people will listen to me more than they’d listen to others, and with that type of advantage, I have to use it, don’t I?” You can hear the passion in her voice and in her words. Okay. You’re satisfied with that answer.

“I thought so,” you say, leaning back and resting against the headboard of the bed, “but I just wanted to make sure.” 

You want Frisk to be doing something that she’s happy with. Not because she feels forced to. And even if this job is dangerous and definitely very stressful, you’re happy that it’s what she wants. Truth be told, although you still are worried about it… you feel comfortable with Frisk in such an important position. She’s definitely one of the better people for the job.

“Thanks, Chara,” she smiles, one of those beautiful smiles of hers where it reaches her eyes and she tilts her head slightly so her hair falls the tiniest bit of out place. One of those smiles that makes your heart skip a beat and your breath hitch. “For caring about what I want. And about me.”

You try to look away out of embarrassment but you can’t. It’s too pretty of a sight to possibly forget. 

Frisk is actually the one to look away first, the pretty smile fading from her features and converting into a more somber expression. “Unfortunately… I also have some not very good news.”

That’s right. You almost wish she forgot about it, but it may be important. Actually, it probably is. 

“Go on,” you tell her, preparing yourself. You don’t really have any idea what this is about either. Is it also ambassador related? Or did something else happen entirely?

“So, I don’t really know what your reaction will be to this, but…” she runs a hand through her hair, and you get the urge to reach out and do the same, “mom also told me that she wants us to go back to school.”

Okay, that’s not what you were expecting. “...What?”

“That’s what I thought, too, it doesn’t really make much sense, but let me explain,” she says quickly, but you’re still processing that first part, “this really nice, prestigious school offered to enroll us and pretty much like… put together a curriculum for us depending on what we’re missing. We’ll have sort of like… private teachers, if you will, so we won’t be going to classes or anything. And we’ll be together. We can both work at home as much as we want and can really leave at any time. We don’t even have to go full days. I bet you could even take online classes, considering your age,” she stops, taking a breath, somehow having said that all in one. You take a moment to take all of that in, because what she said is a lot.

You knew you’d have to go back to school at some point, you just had no clue how it would work. You guess that doesn’t sound  _ that _ bad, though. You’re thankful that mom thought of you and didn’t just enrol you both in a school.  _ That _ would be something you’d make a deal out of. (You think you’d outright refuse to go, if you’re being honest with yourself.)

“...Alright,” you say easily, and you’re surprised by how easy it is and how easily you say it as well. “That’s fine.”

“Really?” Frisk is surprised too. 

“I mean, you said that we would be together, yes?” Frisk nods, and you continue, albeit a little quieter, “so… as long as you’re with me, it’s alright.” 

Frisk is taken aback by that as well, but a smile slowly spreads across her face. You quickly realize what just came out of your mouth, and immediately try and amend it, “don’t get the wrong idea, or anything. I am perfectly capable of being by myself and taking care of myself, it’s just… I’m more relaxed with you by my side.”

More like you need her by your side and you’re absolute shit at taking care of yourself, but now why would you tell her that?

She doesn’t comment on the fact that you’re obviously not telling the truth. You’ve noticed that Frisk tends not to call you embarrassed bluffs. You appreciate it. “Me too, Chara.”

There’s a small quiet before Frisk speaks again. “Honestly, I’m scared as well. I always hated school.”

The rather sudden confession catches your attention. You were the same way. “I did too,” you admit, inwardly shuddering thinking back to your days of schooling, “why did you?”

“I thought you disliked it,” she says, bringing up her knees to her chest and crossing her arms over them, resting her head on them. “I guess I didn’t really have a very good reason to not like it. Not anything compared to yours, probably. It was just terrible, though, trying to balance the workload as well as other things that were going on. It was really hard to keep going for a whole day. Nobody cut you any slack, either.” You think it’s a lot more painful and detailed than she’s letting on, but for now you let it slide. “Although… I did look forward to lunch, because then I could finally get something to eat.”

She suddenly straightens up and clasps a hand over her mouth, like she didn’t mean to say that. You reach out and place your hand on top of hers, slowly lowering it. She shouldn’t be afraid to tell you things like that.

“Calm down, Frisk,” you rub her palm soothingly, “I’m not mad.”

So, you guess it’s just as you thought. Frisk did have some sort of food problem. She had to have, with the state of how thin she was. 

Her parents probably didn’t keep food in the house.

You feel anger growing inside of you but keep it down, not wanting to frighten Frisk. But fucking hell, what  _ shit _ parents she must’ve had. Even if they didn’t specifically keep food away from her, they had to have not been monitoring if she was eating or if she was eating enough. You think they may be on the list of people you’re going to hunt down.

“But...” she does relax slightly, and you retract your hand, but you notice the fingers that are laid across her legs are squeezing tightly, “I stole. From the cafeteria, and took it home.”

You’re definitely adding her parents to that list. “Because you didn’t have any other food at home?”

She looks away, staying quiet, but that’s enough to answer your question.

“Frisk, it wasn’t your fault. You did what you had to do,” you try to explain, desperately hoping she understands. What if that food that she took was  _ all _ she got to eat? She was—still is, although better—so thin… God, no wonder she had trouble making through a whole school day. Just what else was going on with her? “Besides, I doubt the school missed any of the food, anyway.”

She still looks guilty, and it hurts you. You’re sure there’s other stuff as well, and you do want to know, but you also don’t want to force it out of her. It definitely seems hard for her to talk about. 

“Why did you not like it, Chara?” she asks, resting her head back on her hands and glancing over at you. You have to think for a moment to summarize all the reasons into a few sentences.

“Well, for the same reasons you did and a few others,” you explain, “the workload was ridiculous and hard to keep up with, and to be honest, I  _ just didn’t care.  _ I didn’t care about any of what was being taught. Maybe not because some of it wasn’t interesting, but I just hated being there so much. I hated everyone there—and with good reason, too. They weren’t good kids— _ or _ good adults in the slightest,” you sigh, thinking back to it. Kids could be so, so cruel. “They weren’t good people.” 

You feel a hand on top of your own. Frisk squeezes it gently, reassuringly. You think she gets what you mean. 

You take her hand into your own, before resolving to simply push yourself forward and lie down on the bed completely. Frisk follows, still keeping your hands intertwined. She lays her head onto your shoulder, and you let her, resting yours on hers as well, and switching your hands so you can wrap your other arm around her.

“This time it’ll be better,” she says, closing her eyes. “Because I’ll be right there with you.”

“You’ll be with me,” you confirm to yourself. Her face is so close to yours, it would be so easy to just… “I’ll be with you, too.”

“Always,” she murmurs softly. 

“Always,” you repeat. 

You love Frisk. 

And even if she doesn’t know, even if you haven’t told her yet, even if you want so, so much more than this, for now, you think this is okay. As long as Frisk is by your side, you think you can do anything. Eventually, telling her how you feel may be a part of “anything”, but, since Frisk is with you…

Maybe you’ll be able to do it.   


For now,

this is alright.

* * *

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Flowey asks. You glance up at him, “I mean, it seems to me like you’re biting off a bit more than you can chew, here.”

“Maybe,” you say, looking back at the pages and beginning to play with the corner of one of them. It's one of the two books Alphys gave you. After spending time with Chara for a while, you came back to your room to begin them. “I’ll be fine, though. Don’t worry about me. This is what I have to do.”

He frowns, not seeming satisfied with that answer, but doesn’t comment any further on it. He doesn’t speak again until a few seconds later. “Are you really happy with all of this?” 

You look up at him again. “What do you mean?”

“With everything,” he replies vaguely. Not very specific, you think. “And everyone.”

You think that’s a strange question, especially for Flowey, but you take it seriously anyway. “Yeah,” you breathe, “I am. But I’ll be happier when everyone is here. And safe.” You smile a little at him, tilting your head to rest it on your hands. “Why?”

He looks away from you, his expression unreadable. You stop smiling, reaching out for him. He doesn’t move and doesn’t say anything, just stays still. There’s obviously something bothering him.

“Flowey.”

He’s still quiet, so you begin tracing your fingers around his pot, patiently waiting if he does want to say anything.

Eventually, he does. “Don’t change, Frisk.”

You halt your motions at that, staring him confusedly. His face gives you no indications of what he means and why he said that, though, so you just take it as a compliment and place a gentle hand on top of his head. 

“I won’t,” you tell him, rubbing his petals softly, “promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> toriel could've told chara herself, but she chose to ask frisk to instead. just putting that out there  
> hhhhh sorry this is so short and fairly uneventful? enjoy the fluff, at least? the next chapter will be a lot longer and things will start picking up literally in the next chapter. i promise all the dark angsty stuff is on its way.  
> next update actually may be fairly soon this time? i have j-term for the next two weeks meaning homework and such should be at a minimum which is probably one of the biggest things that takes up my time, so i should have plenty of time to write. until then though, stay warm everyone. hope the new year has been going good for all of you so far


	20. Star-crossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inside the folded paper is…
> 
> A letter? For you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm like so afraid this fandom is going to die before i finish this don't leave me you guys i promise the actual romance aspect will come soon i just need to get a few plot points out of the way but it will def be developing a lot more as chapters go on. and eventually i swear there will be smut as i promised lol  
> it's crazy that it's already march? and i've been doing this story for a year? wow i should really work faster to get finished but my life is such a mess ugh  
> anyway, though, enjoy
> 
> EDIT 3-30-18: it has been brought to my attention that povs in this story are very confusing!! this has been something that has been in the back of my mind for a while, but i haven't really thought about it much until now. since i haven't really decided what i want to do to fix it completely, for now, i'll indicate what pov the chapter starts with, and, if you haven't picked up on it, pov switches are signified by a line break (whereas time skips are signified by paragraph breaks/spaces). at least, this should make it easier to figure out what pov it is until i figure out a permanent solution.  
> thank you all for sticking by this story!
> 
> this chapter starts in frisk's pov.

Directly the day after you somehow get mom to approve of you being a full time ambassador, you and Asgore arranged to go out to discuss your future ambassadorial arrangements over (of course) a cup of tea. And, even better: you got Chara to come too!

You thought she’d like to, considering not only she wants to be in on the loop and such, but also because she shares Asgore’s fondness of tea. You found this sort of hole in the wall place that looked really cute, and you just had to go there. And so, that’s what you’re doing today. Since you don’t really know the exact date of when you’re going back to school—Toriel never specified, only saying when you asked that it’d take some time and she’d hear back from the school and she’d tell you then—you’ve decided to do as much as you can with all the free time that you have now.

You assume that it’s not going to be _that_ bad, considering you don’t have to go full days and can work at home as much as you want as long as you show up every now and then get your work done, so it’s not like you’re going to lose _all_ of your free time, but you think between ambassadorial work and school, you’re going to be pretty busy and possibly pressed for time to spend with your family and friends. That was one thing Toriel was worried about; if you’d be able to properly balance ambassador work with your studies. You assured her you’d be fine. You think you’ll find a way to manage. You do want to get reconnect with every single one of your Underground friends on the Surface if possible, and you’re starting to think that you should’ve done it earlier. You’ll still be able to, you’re not giving up on it, but now it just may take a lot longer.

Really, you’re just trying to make the most of your remaining free time.

You and Chara walk down the sidewalk together, her staying rather close to you and looking on guard, but you don’t mind. You know she’s just trying to keep you safe. Asgore’s meeting you both there, and it wasn’t that far from home, so you just decided to walk. If it was any longer, you would have driven, but you think you can avoid press and people who may possibly want to hurt you. You’ve been lucky so far. Maybe you’ll get lucky again.

Then, though, you see two people in nice clothing across the street talking and pointing at the two of you. One of them is holding something… it looks sort of like a camera?

“Hey… look over there,” you point to Chara, trying to subtly gesture to the men, “I think that may be paparazzi.”

She looks over and studies them for a small amount of time before turning back to you and nodding. “I think you’re right.”

Hm. Maybe it would’ve been a better idea to drive. But gosh, you haven’t even been out here for that long. How did they find you so quickly?

“Um… wanna make a run for it?” you suggest as they start over to the two of you. Chara immediately tenses as soon as she sees that.

“I mean, I don’t have any better ideas,” she replies, halting her steps. You stop as well. “Are you ready?”

“Wait,” you say hurriedly. You grasp her hand tightly. “Okay. I’m ready now.”

She scoffs at you a little, but holds onto yours tight as well. You both take off for the small restaurant, which, thankfully, is only a little bit further down the sidewalk. You think maybe the men begin chasing after the two of you—you hear a faint call of “Hey! Wait!”—but you reach the building before they can reach you, Chara going first and holding the door open for you, and you quickly hurrying in after.

She closes the door herself, and the two of you take a few steps back. The men are nowhere in sight. You think they may have given up on chasing you. But, if they walk in, there’s always the option of hiding somewhere.

Honestly, that must be so _unfortunate_ though, the more you think about it. If you didn’t hate paparazzi so much, maybe you’d feel bad. You can’t imagine what it’s like to see someone—or two people, actually—who… well, are very famous and well known, and then have them both run away from you. You would’ve just lost a _really_ big opportunity. You both just _ran away._

You wish you saw the look on their faces.

You start laughing at the thought. Chara glances at you, then at your hands that are still interlocked, and then starts laughing with you.

“Don’t worry,” she says, pulling on your hand to protectively pull you closer to her, “I won’t let anyone bother you.”

You smile, nuzzling your face into her shoulder. You know she won’t. It actually calms you and makes you feel at ease. You don’t really like going anywhere in public without her at this point. “Mm, I feel so safe.”

“Chara? Frisk?”

You both turn to see Asgore already seated behind you with a table, waving the two of you over. You separate, holding back more laughter at Chara’s rather embarrassed expression. You guess she doesn’t like showing affection in front of other people. Probably especially her parents. That makes sense though, and you get it. But it’s still funny to you.

That’s only part of the reason why you still don’t let go of her hand even as you both walk to the table and get seated.

“So,” you say, still holding Chara’s hand in your own, “how are you, dad?”

“I am good, thank you, Frisk,” he replies, either oblivious to you and Chara’s affections or just uncaring, “how have the two of you been?”

Chara begins to fill him in on the things that have happened recently, which, is actually sort of a lot, especially considering that you haven’t really had the chance to talk to him like this. You’re listening for a while, even if it’s stuff that you know about. Partially because you want to be involved in the conversation and it’s polite to listen, but also because you honestly love listening to Chara speak. She has this rich, smooth voice with a slight lilt to it; and with the way that she words things, it makes her sound rather… proper. You know it’s because she was born and raised at a different time than you, and it’s really not all that unusual, but it sounds kind of… exotic to you. Maybe because it’s different from how you speak and different from what you’re used to, but either way, you find yourself attracted to it. You could probably listen to her talk for hours. You still want to hear her sing. You feel like she’d be really good at it. You’ve always wanted to be good at singing…

And that’s when you realized you’ve spaced out a bit, thinking about Chara. It’s not the first time it’s happened, not at all (honestly, it happens a lot), but it still embarasses you slightly, and you try to listen in again, re-adjusting your grip on her hand that you’re still holding. You’re sort of surprised she hasn’t taken it away yet, but not that you’re complaining.

Except, you find yourself distracted by something else.

You’re not sure exactly what it is. You just get this… off-putting feeling all of a sudden. Like the room just got colder, and the atmosphere more tense, even though the air between you, Chara, and Asgore is light. You just have a weird feeling. For some reason. You can’t put your finger on it.

You really _don’t like it._

“Frisk?”

You hear Chara call your name and blink a couple of times, now actually grounded and back to reality. “Ah—yes?”

She raises a brow at you, silently questioning you, and you think she’s about to ask about it, but Asgore says something first. “I was just talking about an embassy meeting next week.”

“Oh!” you put your free hand down on the table eagerly, “I’d love to go! Please take me? Mom approves, I talked to her yesterday.”

He chuckles at your excitement. “Well, I guess that is alright. I am not sure how you convinced Tori—er, Tor _iel_ to let you attend, but as long as she is okay with it, so am I.”

You shrug, also still not really knowing exactly how you got her to agree with you either. You have a feeling she may still not fully be on your side, but you have confidence she will eventually be once you prove to her you can handle it.

Mostly.

Chara points an accusing finger at you. “Her persuasion skills are deadly when she wants something.”

Asgore smiles good naturedly. “I shall make note of that.”

You all share a small laugh, and although you’re enjoying the time with your family, you still can’t help but glance around the room, searching for the source of that strange feeling you got. You don’t really feel it anymore, but it’s still concerning to you.

Of course, there’s nothing out of the ordinary, though. You have no idea what caused it.

You pass it off simply as your imagination, turning your attention back to Asgore and Chara and discussing possible future ambassador endeavors, talking and laughing and planning. It’s nice.

But the whole time, you still can’t help but feel as though it wasn’t something your mind was making up.

###  _Chapter Twenty: Star-crossed_

“Okay, so, the meeting is Tuesday?” you confirm for Chara, who is currently writing dates down on the calendar of her phone.

“Yes, the second one,” Asgore clarifies, and Chara nods, marking it down.

“How many of these sort of meetings have you been to?” you ask, having heard him mention quite a few. They seem to happen pretty consistently.

“A fair amount,” he replies, probably not knowing the exact number. That’s understandable. “Did you not hear about them? You were invited to a majority of the meetings.”

“No…?” you answer, now confused. You went to like, one a while ago to meet the organization or whatever, but you don’t know if that counts. It wasn’t at the actual embassy, either, you don’t think. But other than that, you haven’t heard anything about any other meetings.

He makes a sound of acknowledgment . “Perhaps your mother simply did not mention them to you.”

Yeah, maybe. That sounds like something she may do if she didn’t want you going. But she really didn’t say anything at all? Not even to tell you that she didn’t want you attending or doing things like that? You love your mother, and you trust her (to an extent), but hearing that does make you wonder…

“That’s not very fair,” Chara comments, finishing writing down the dates and turning off her phone, slipping it back into her pocket. “It’s not really her choice.”

You’d be sort of inclined to agree, but… it’s not really your place. You’re lucky Toriel is even taking care of you at all.

Asgore doesn’t seem to want to get involved, however, so you say, “I don’t know—I don’t think she was doing it maliciously, or anything. Just trying to protect us. You know how she is.”

“Yes, I do,” Chara crosses her arms, “and I say that she is _over_ protective.”

“She’s probably just scared,” you comment. Even though you think Chara is right, you can’t bring yourself to criticize Toriel about her overbearing tendencies, even if they do get annoying and inconvenient (and ridiculous) at times. “You know; about losing us again and stuff.”

A bit of upset shows through on Chara’s face. “Yeah, something like that…”

“It’d probably be better if someone else had a say,” you begin, leaning forward a little, not being able to hold back your smile, “like, to balance her out and stuff. Wouldn’t you say so, dad?”

He seems to know exactly what you’re doing, his voice taking on a more warning tone. “Frisk…”

“Come on,” you urge gently, “mom is _totally_ lonely without you. She needs someone else who’s a bit more… level-headed to balance out her decisions. Being a single mom is hard. Especially when your kids are representing a whole other species. She needs help.”

You say it slightly jokingly, but you’re definitely completely serious. “At the very least, you should come around a lot more often.”

He looks like he agrees with you, but doesn’t seem to know what to say. You put your hands together, finally letting go of Chara’s hand to make a pleading gesture. “Please? We miss you, dad.”

He sighs, seeming to finally give into you. “I can agree to come around more often, but the rest is up to your mother,” he says, which, for now, is good enough for you. Fixing their marriage is still in progress. Besides, you know despite what he says he won’t be able to resist trying to help out Toriel if he was over. “I _do_ wish to see you both more often.”

You continue to talk for awhile longer, about various things. Ambassadorial stuff, but also what’s going on right now. It’s a lot of stuff that you’ve heard about already, since now you check the news fairly often (which is still sort of against Toriel’s wishes, but she has to know that you do it because recent events was one of the reasons you had gave her for wanting to officially be an ambassador, so it’s really whatever at this point) but you definitely gain some new information. Not good information, but it’s still something you should know nonetheless, especially if you’re taking up this job. Although it is depressing, knowing what’s happening in the world is going to be something that you’re going to have to get used to.

With somewhat of a plan set in place, you and Chara bid goodbye to your adopted father, him wishing you both luck at starting school again and promising to stop by more often. This time, you try to sort of hurry as to hopefully not get caught by people who want to bother you like what could’ve happened before. Although Chara once again declares that she’ll protect you from anyone like that, you’d rather just not have to deal with it at all. You don’t want them annoying her, either.

“That went well,” you note as you turn onto your home street, slightly swinging your hands at your sides. Although you _are_ nervous about everything that’s happening—being a serious ambassador and going back to school; it’s a lot—you aren’t really stressing too much about it. _Yet_ , at least. It could be that the reality of the situations hasn’t set in yet, but, once again, you’re just trying to enjoy the rest of your free time. And, you do guess you are also excited for the upcoming events. After all, you also did convince Asgore to come around more often, and you’re going to try to see Sans more often as well, if you can help it. Hopefully, all of your friends. You’re going to try and work things out between Toriel and Asgore, and you’re still working on a plan to get Asriel’s soul back. There’s a lot of things to be done that you’re working on, but you’re looking forward to the outcomes of all of them. Even if getting to that outcome is hard. “And hey, we haven’t been chased by any paparazzis or reporters yet.”

“I think we’re good, by now,” she tells you reassuringly, “and yes, I think it went quite well too.” She glances at you, your hands brushing against each other as you accidentally walk a bit too close. “You had a lot of good ideas. I think you’ll do great as an ambassador.”

You smile. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

Your hands brush together again, and this time, you simply take to taking hers into your own. She doesn’t jolt or even give it a glance, just letting you do it and holds your hand back, and a small smile appears on her face. “You’re a good partner, Chara.”

She looks away from you as a response. “You know, you’ve been grabbing my hand a lot lately.”

Now that you think about it, she’s not wrong. “I have,” you agree, beginning to now swing your interlaced hands contentedly, “I like holding hands with you. Since you’re not in my head anymore, it makes me feel close to you.”

You can tell she doesn’t really mind it, but she still ‘tch’es at you in very Chara nature. “I think that you are simply an overly touchy person.”

You give it some thought. “That’s probably true, too. But mostly I just like touching you.”

She gives you a weak glare, before striding ahead of you, which doesn’t really work because you’re holding hands and she just pulls you right along with her. She seems to realize this, but doesn’t want to let go of your hand, so she just settles with looking away from you instead. It makes you laugh.

“Do not laugh at me,” is all she says, still not looking at you, “you should be afraid of me. I could seriously injure you.”

“But you wouldn’t,” you point out, and she falls silent. “You care about me too much.”

She actually seems to consider that, finally slowing her pace. She stays quiet for a little longer before saying in a soft voice, “yeah, I really do.” And then, even quieter, “more than you know…”

Her reaction confuses you slightly. You’ve never really seen her act exactly like this, or say anything like that.

At this point, you’re fairly close to the house, only a few houses down from your own. But Chara stops, stepping in front of you and standing her ground resolutely.

“Chara?” you ask, a little bit alarmed after the way she was just acting. She studies you, her expression going soft for a moment before becoming more firm and dare you say… determined?

“Frisk,” she says your name unwaveringly, but you can sense the nervousness in her voice, “do…”

She trails of, her resolution seeming to be fading. She seems frustrated by this, and doesn’t continue saying what she was going to say.

“Chara…” you try gently, reaching for her, “what’s wrong?”

She looks you in the face this time, and you see a flash of sadness in her eyes. It surprises you, and now you’re sure something’s up. She’s been acting kind of off this whole time. Something’s bothering her.

She takes a breath in, like she’s going to begin speaking, but it ends up just turning into a sigh. “Nevermind. Not now.”

She seems to say that last part more to herself than you, and then turns around and begins walking to the house. You stand in place for a moment, your hand still outstretched from reaching out to touch her. What was that?

“W-Wait!” you run after her to catch up, grasping her shoulder so she’ll slow down for you, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she replies. You almost click _your_ tongue at her at that. There’s obviously something up, and her saying that only proves it further.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask a bit nervously, the way she’s been acting putting you off a bit. She slows once again at that, shaking her head.

“No, not you,” she says. Does that imply that she _is_ mad at _someone_? “Just… don’t worry about it, alright? It… It will make sense eventually.”

You have no idea what she’s talking about, but it seems she doesn’t want to elaborate right now. And it doesn’t seem to be something that’s bad or that she shouldn’t be hiding, so you guess you’ll back off. Maybe it doesn’t matter if it’ll “make sense eventually”.

“O...Okay,” you agree, although you’re still really, _really_ confused. “Sorry…?”

“Don’t start,” she waves you off, walking onto the driveway. “It’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong—just, like I said, don’t worry about it right now.”

You silently reach for her hand, glancing up at her when she looks down at you. Her eyes flicker over your face, and you wonder if she’ll have a different reaction this time, but she simply continues to walk onto the porch with you following, holding your hand back. You think maybe she’s getting used to it, and just doesn’t care anymore. That was sort of your goal; you’d like her to become accustomed and like your physical affections. After all, exactly like she said—you _are_ a very touchy person. _Especially_ with Chara.

You actually have no idea what’s going on, but… you’ll let it go, even if you are curious. It seems like something sensitive, so it’s probably not the best or the nicest idea to pry.

Despite telling yourself that, you still find yourself going over the reaction in your head as you enter the house. You only realize that you have a guest when Chara says something.

“What the fu—” Chara begins to say but Toriel curtly (as if she’s done it before) cuts her off.

“ _Hello_ Chara, Frisk,” she greets you both, giving Chara a fairly dirty look. Chara doesn’t seem to notice, too busy glaring daggers at the person across from Toriel.

“Hi Sans?” you say questioningly, feeling Chara grip your hand tighter. You notice that he has a drink. He probably has been here for a while, talking to Toriel. Alone. “This is a nice surprise, but…” you look between them, “what exactly are you doing here?”

“Sans and I were talking,” Toriel answers for him. He leans back in his seat, nodding in agreement. You and Chara exchange a glance. This situation feels familiar. Your disdain for it does as well.

“About?”

“Well, I thought it would be appropriate—since you want to take up more ambassadorial duties, that you have someone to protect you,” she explains, gesturing towards Sans. Chara stiffens beside you.

“She already has someone to do that,” Chara comments before Toriel can go on, pointing to herself, “me.”

Toriel shifts a bit. “I know, Chara,” she replies gently, as if trying to keep Chara calm. Chara doesn’t seem to be going along with it. “However, I do not want either of you to get hurt. And, since I will not be able to be around nearly as much now that I will be working—”

“I’ve been doing a good job protecting her so far, haven’t I? And neither of us are hurt.” She crosses her arms, letting go of your hand after you think you see mom glancing at your fingers intertwined. You tuck the now free hand into your sleeve. You suppose she has a point. “I can handle it _myself._ ”

“Chara,” Toriel says in a tone that sounds like a warning, “even if you are good at keeping both yourself and Frisk safe, there is still a risk of either of you getting hurt. It is not enough. There should not even be the smallest chance.”

“Do you really think that _he_ would be able to do a better job?” she asks, accusingly flinging her hand toward Sans. “Do not be ridiculous.”

You can feel the growing tension in the room. You feel like this could break out into a full fledged argument if something isn’t done. You glance over to Sans, wondering how he’s taking all of this, only to see him watching calmly and silently, his hands wrapped around his drink and his posture slack in his seat. He doesn’t seem to be affected by it at all. You guess he doesn’t care that much, even if Chara is sort of insulting him. Maybe he’s used to it by now. He’s definitely not going to be of any help. You it is, then, you suppose. You do tend to break up the fights that happen or prevent them, so what’s one more. After all, it is part of your job. You could even consider it as practice if you didn’t care about your family so much.

“Chara…” you murmur, catching her sleeve and lightly tugging on it to get her attention. She turns to you, the anger in her expression dissipating slightly. You slowly shake your head and she seems to get the message, sighing, and gently taking her arm out of your grip before turning to face Toriel and Sans more calmly.

“I will be upstairs if you need me,” is all she says to Toriel, giving Sans a hostile glance before curtly exiting the room, her fleeting footsteps following. You drop your hand back at your side. You’ll talk to her later. You don’t think she’d be comfortable with you saying some of the things that you want to say in front of Sans.

“She’ll be okay,” you assure them (more so Toriel, though), pulling out a seat at the table next to Toriel and across from Sans. You look to him. “Sorry,” you apologize to him for her with a sheepish smile that turns more fond as you continue, “she’s… just protective of me.”

You know that she just wants the best for you, and that’s why she acts the way she does and sometimes lashes out at other people (namely Sans). You really appreciate how much she cares, even if she has trouble showing it. It still makes you feel cared for.

“she must…” Sans grin turns rather smug, “ _char-a_ lot about you.”

You give him a blank look before burying your face into your hands, not being able to conceal your laughter. If he had said that around Chara, you’re sure she would’ve smacked him. At the very _least_.

Even Toriel titters lightly, clasping a hand onto his shoulder as she stands up. “I should probably get back to filling out papers,” she explains, “and I should probably talk to Chara.”

You don’t really like that idea. You feel as though right now it would only make it worse, and if you’re not there to calm Chara down they may get into an actual argument. And, to be honest… you’d rather you be the one to talk to her first. “Not now,” you tell her quickly before she can make a move towards the stairs, “give her some space first, okay? I think… that’s the best thing to do for now.”

You try to say it in a soft tone, so she doesn’t think that you’re ordering her around or that you think you know better than her (although, you may very well might), and you think you may have displeased her as she doesn’t respond right away, but then she nods. “I think you are right, my child. That is a smart way of thinking,” she pauses, sounding proud. “Sometimes, I think you may know her better than I do.”

You rub the back of your neck, looking away. You probably do, to be honest.

“Have fun, you two,” she says, and you catch a hint of teasing in her tone that you don’t appreciate, “Sans, please do tell me before you leave. I would like to walk you out.”

“sure thing,” he says, and she hums before heading upstairs.

Now, it looks like it’s just you and Sans.

“So, you’re back again,” you state, which is a rather stupid and obvious declaration now that you think about it, but your mind kind of blanked there for a second. That tends to happen when you’re around Sans. You hate it.

“i’m back again,” he confirms amusedly. You fluster slightly. That really did sound stupid.

“I-I mean…” you trail off, trying to gather what you want to say without it sounding weird, “you just sort of like… randomly appear. I know that you’re busy and you have other things to do, you can’t be spending all of your time with me, but…” you stare down at your hands, nervously playing with the edge of the table cloth. Your voice lowers considerably. “I really want to see you more often…”

He’s quiet for like a second, and you know you’re being ridiculous and not giving him time to reply but a second is too much for you. “I mean—! If it would be possible, I would at least like to know _when_ you’re going to come.”

 _So you can plan around it be able to look forward to it and not miss him so much when he’s gone...and maybe sometimes be able to dress up for him,_ but you feel like saying that would add to the clinginess factor that you’ve already got going on here.

“what? you miss me?” he asks, and you can’t tell if he’s just teasing you or if he’s genuinely surprised. Maybe both?

You try to reply but begin stammering out of embarrassment of being caught, and he just chuckles and waves his hand to cut you off. “hey, hey, easy there. i have a feeling that me and you will be seein’ each other a lot more now that tori’s working and she wants me watchin’ over ya.”

That does make you calm down. For a second. And then you’re smiling and leaning forward excitedly. “Really? How often?”

“fairly often,” he answers nonchalantly, seeming to enjoy your sudden enthusiasm, “especially since she wants me to go with you on ambassador trips and such. i think i’ll be hangin’ around ya a lot.”

You fold your hands together and place them on the table contentedly. “I’d like that very much.”

You begin catching up with him, going on about various things, starting with school. “Mom wants me and Chara to this really nice sounding school with a private tutor,” you explain, listing a few more details before going on to admit, “it doesn’t really sound all that bad, but I’m still kinda nervous about it.”

“goin’ back to school, huh?” he looks contemplative as he talks to you, “i was actually thinkin’ about being a professor at either that school or tori’s.”

This interests you, having caught you completely off guard. “What, seriously?” he nods, and you find yourself liking that idea. “I think that’d be cool! Like, I could come and visit you and stuff in between class periods.” You think about sneaking off to see him during the school day, and having lunch with him in an empty classroom, talking about nothing in particular. You know you’d feel a lot more secure with him there. And, not to mention that you think he’d make a wonderful teacher. You can see him teaching something like mathematics or science, maybe specifically physics. Sans has this ability to wonderfully explain things, and even if it’s the most boring thing, make it interesting and easy to understand. You can _totally_ imagine him talking to a full class, all of them listening intently. To be honest, you find yourself a little jealous and sad that you wouldn’t be taught by him. Maybe you’ll come see one of his classes anyway, even if you’re not in it.

Although, thinking about it makes you realizes that you don’t know what Sans _actually_ wants to do. Besides this, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him mention anything about a profession. Has he not had a job this whole time?

Now curious, you bring it up. “I think you’d make a great teacher, Sans,” you say genuinely, “but, um… What do you actually want to do? For a living, I mean. Like, would that be your permanent job?”

He thinks about it for a moment, taking a sip of his drink. You think he’s drinking coffee? Toriel probably made it for him. You know Sans would make a great professor, but you’re curious to know what he’s wanted to be from the start, and or previous jobs he’s had, because that’s something you don’t really know about him. One of the many things, you realize, that you plan to find out. You’re definitely going to get to know him. You may still be shy and quiet, but you’re no longer the scared little girl you used to be.

“...to be honest, i’m not exactly sure,” he admits, his voice and expression pensive, “although, i’ll settle on teaching for now. i’ve been gettin’ money from a different job up till now, so i haven’t really thought much on it.” his grin turns more relaxed, “‘sides, watchin’ over you is my first priority, anyway.”

A different job, huh? You want to ask about it, but for some reason, you kinda doubt you’d get a straight answer. You get the vibe that he doesn’t want to talk about it—if he wanted you to know, he probably would have told you in the first place. But you’ll just add to the list of things you want to know about him.

His words warm you, though, despite your thoughts. Although, you think of something suddenly and then you don’t know how much you like them anymore. “Wait, is my mom paying you to look after me?” you ask, not recalling hearing about the specifics of that. You guess it would make sense, but… you just don’t really like it—him being paid to take care of you and protect you. You’d rather it be something he’d _want_ to do rather than simple a job. And maybe that’s selfish, but can’t you be selfish when it comes to things like this? He’s your friend, someone you care a lot about, you don’t want your time together to only be about him getting paid for it.

“nah,” he answers, and you can’t help but be relieved. “although she did originally ask me to, i’m doin’ that completely of my own free will, sweetheart.”

That’s good. You’d want that to to be the case. You’d hate it to be something he’s being forced to do. It would make you sad if your interactions just amounted to a paycheck.

...It takes you a second for his words to sink in, the initial relief from his words wearing off. He’s taking care of you, protecting you, all just because he _wants_ to? He did say Toriel asked him to, but still, that’s a lot. That’s a lot of his time, time that he could be using on so many other things, and he’s risking his safety for you. He didn’t _have_ to do it, either. Does he…

Does he care about you that much?

You want to ask, but you don’t. Instead, you smile and thank him for being there for you. It’s similar enough.

Maybe, one day you’ll know the answer to that question.

The two of you continue to talk for a while, various topics coming up. You mention that if he ever wanted to do something else, you think he’d do good in law. Maybe like a lawyer or a judge or something. You’re not sure exactly why, but you just have this _sense_ that he’d be good at it. You don’t know where it stems from. He seems a bit uncomfortable with that for unknown reasons, although he does briefly agree with you that maybe it would be something that he’d pick up, but not now and if he ever did definitely not anytime soon. You ponder on why that may make him uneasy, and you don’t notice the smirk on his face until he speaks again.

“you just want to see me in uniform,” he claims teasingly, which flusters you for the second time in the last hour. Even though you know he’s just trying to get you to squirm, it’s… not exactly false. Honestly, you almost let yourself agree; it’d probably catch him off guard. You’ve seen Sans in a suit before (at the dance), but seeing it again or something else formal… you think you’d enjoy it a bit more than he needs to know.

You’re not sure how long you talk to him, but you know you enjoy every second of it, and you’re a little disappointed when he mentions that he should be heading out. Although, this time, since you’re now confident that you’ll see him soon, you don’t really worry much about it.

You say your goodbyes and get Toriel, knowing she doesn’t like for people to leave without also being able to say goodbye them. Typical, polite, motherly Toriel. She comes down to see him out as well, right beside you.

“Bye, Sans!” you call, waving at him, “see you soon…?”

“yeah,” he agrees, “i think… tomorrow, actually. right, tori?”

“That is correct,” she confirms, and you feel a slight eagerness for this day to end. “Goodbye, Sans. Get home safe.”

“of course.”

He walks out, and after the door is shut, you’re sure he’s not there anymore. You exchange brief words with Toriel, telling her you think she made a good decision with appointing Sans to protect you, and that you know he’ll do a good job. She shouldn’t worry too much. She smiles and squeezes your hand, and then disappears somewhere into the house, saying that she has some other work to finish up.

You’re left alone.

This time, you don’t really mind, actually having something that you want to do. You immediately head for your room, taking out your books and the notebook that you keep by them for planning.

So far, you’ve gathered quite a lot of information about SOULs, but you’re not sure just how much of it is very relevant to what you’re trying to do. Some of the information is helpful and good to know, of course, but a lot of it doesn’t really give you any idea of what you can do for Asriel. Although you think you may have some very, _very_ vague ideas, you still are at a loss of what you’re going to be able to do.

You begin tapping your pencil against the notebook paper as you read, glancing over some of the things you found important enough to write down. Once again, they’re good things to keep in mind, but none of them really give you any idea of where to start. You sigh.

“Hey.”

You jolt quite violently, almost throwing your pencil across the room before slowly turning to your right to see Flowey observing you silently. When did he even get in here? You swear he wasn’t here before.

“If you don’t start saying something—” you begin, irritated, but stop and grab the pencil that you impulsively let go of on the edge of the desk, placing it on the notebook. “Do you need something?”

“Toriel went out of the house alone,” he says, tilting his head slightly, “I think you should follow her.”

You blink, not catching onto what he’s getting at. “What? Why?”

She’s just going somewhere, right? Probably work related if not going to the store. Although it is a little strange for her not to tell you or Chara that she’s going out, you don’t think it’s a reason to follow her.

“She seemed pretty scared,” he notes, and you wonder if he’s just trying to stir up trouble again, “she had a check of a rather large amount of money, too.”

You stop, sitting up straight and turning to face him. Okay, if he’s telling the truth, then that is fairly suspicious. You really want to trust Toriel, but you’re sort of wondering if it would be worth it to just go and see what exactly it is she’s doing. She could be in danger.

If she hadn’t sheltered you from outside events and Asgore hadn’t have told you that she may have not told you about some ambassador related invites you had gotten, than you probably wouldn’t be so worried about something like this. However, she’s proven that she’s willing to hide things from you, even if they are things that you should know about. What’s really the harm, anyway? You could just go and check out whatever’s happening, and if it’s nothing, then you’ll leave. It’s better than something happening that could’ve been prevented and all of you regretting it.

“...Okay,” you give in rather easily, getting up and beginning to gather your stuff to head out. “Tell me what you know.”

As you put on your shoes and begin to search around for the house keys mom had given you while ago, Flowey begins to tell you how he saw her drive out somewhere alone, with a check for a suspiciously large amount of money. He thinks she went to a nearby restaurant, as he heard her talking about it earlier. She had seemed off, anxious and checking behind her before she left. Overall, not painting the best picture. After finding the keys at the back of one of your drawers, you shove your books back into your desk and grab a jacket before picking up Flowey, putting him in the bag that you’ve decided you’re going to carry him around in whenever you go out and need to take him with you, then going downstairs and quietly opening the front door. Chara’s light was on in her room, and she doesn’t appear to be downstairs, so you’re assuming that’s where she is. Hopefully, she won’t need you for anything for a while. You don’t think she’ll be able to hear you leaving, but it’s only a matter of time before she notices you’re gone. You should make this fast.

Before leaving, you grab a small kitchen knife and shove it in your back pocket. You won’t use it, but just for good measure. Especially since Chara’s not coming with you.

You exit the house, speed-walking down the street. Flowey gives you directions, telling you upon asking how he knows where to go that he “did his research”, which makes you wonder if he’s been planning this for a little while, but whatever. Maybe he really is meaning to help you.

You suppose you could’ve gone with Chara—it probably would’ve been a better idea, you really shouldn’t be going out alone, especially not when you can’t protect yourself properly—but Flowey didn’t mention her going, and you don’t want to bring her into this, or possibly waste her time. She’s probably still unhappy from what happened earlier. She doesn’t need the added stress of something like this.

It’s not that big of a deal, anyway. You’re not even sure something is wrong. You’ll just go in, see what’s up, and then leave. That’s it.

Either way, because it’s just you, you put the hood of your jacket up. You hope no one will recognize you. There’s a lot that could go wrong with this, but you’re just hoping you’ll be able to go in and go out fast enough that no one really notices you.

The walk is a few minutes, probably fifteen max. You weren’t really counting. You’re on edge the whole time, keeping your head down and your bag close to your body, watching your surroundings and the people around you carefully. Thankfully, you’re not approached, and when you reach the restaurant, you go in as calm and as inconspicuous as possible.

—You’re about to, at least. But then you see movement around the back of the building, and you glance down at Flowey from the hole you left in the bag, who nods to you slowly. Sighing quietly and gripping it tight, you begin to walk around.

As you get closer, you begin to hear hushed voices. They’re going back and forth fairly fast, and you can’t tell who’s saying what. As you reach the edge of the wall of the back of the building, you slowly peek around, taking in a breath and holding it.

...And sure enough, there Toriel is, flesh and bone and everything, standing across from a tall man in a black suit with a large briefcase.

The sight sends a chill down your spine. You immediately take a few steps back, flattening your back against the wall. That man… he looks a lot similar to…

You know you’re just being paranoid, but either way, that guy does _not_ look like good news. The fact that this is even _happening_ is not good news.

You swallow, clutching the bag to your chest. They looked to be talking fairly heatedly—Toriel’s gestures were sharp and hurried, from what you saw, while the man simply sat back on his heels with arms flat at his sides, his posture too straight for your liking. You can’t really pick up their exact words because of how quiet they’re being, which makes it even more suspicious, but they’re definitely arguing about something.

What exactly is going on here?

You look down at Flowey. He doesn’t seem all that surprised, as if expecting something like this, although, he doesn’t seem smug or anything, which you guess you can appreciate. More like just trying to work this whole thing out, a lot like you.

You take a few more steps away, feeling slightly shaky and nervous. “This isn’t good,” you whisper to him, debating on what to do, “...should we step in?”

“And risk getting both yourself and Toriel hurt?” he points out. He is right, you shouldn’t act drastically and without thinking, not in a situation like this, but…

“We can’t just leave her alone,” you nervously glance back in their direction, wanting to go check again but not wanting to risk disturbing them. You definitely don’t want to get Toriel hurt, and who knows what’s going on here, but you can’t just leave her with this man, can you? She’s completely alone, and they’re both shielded by the walls of the building. Something really bad could happen, and there would be no one to help…

“She’s an adult, she can handle herself,” he reminds you sternly, probably not liking the idea of you interfering. It would make sense that he wouldn’t. There’s also a risk of him getting hurt as well, you realize. You can’t let that happen, either. You stay in place, going over your options.

But, before you can decide, there’s a loud noise from behind both of you, kind of like something got knocked over or was thrown, and you jump, instinctively running away.

As soon as you’re back out in the open, you realize you should go back, that Toriel could be in trouble, and even if you’re tiny and will definitely lose a fight, you’re not going to just let something happen without trying at all. But before you can move, the man in black walks out in front of you.

You almost gasp, having to cover your mouth as you stay leaning against the front of the restaurant, watching as he leaves. He doesn’t notice you, thank god. He doesn’t even _look_ at you. He simply keeps his hands in his coat pockets and walks off, carrying a briefcase. If you didn’t know better, you’d just think he was a regular, everyday business man. A shudder runs through you at the sight of him. There’s just this vibe you get from him… it makes you feel slightly sick.

You wait until he’s out of sight, staying still, not really sure of what to do before you hear footsteps behind you, and you quickly duck into the restaurant, not even caring if anyone notices you at this point, watching from the window.

You see Toriel walk out, going down the street and getting into her car. From where you are, her fur looks slightly ruffled, and she’s clearly shaken up. You watch as she drives away, slowly walking out of the building yourself, but staying around the front, too shocked to start doing anything yet. What happened? What _was_ that?

 _Who_ was that? What were they talking about? What was that noise? Was Toriel giving him that check Flowey mentioned? For _what_ ? _What’s Toriel’s business with that man?_

“Frisk,” you hear Flowey quietly calling your name, bringing you mostly back to reality, “let’s go.”

That’s probably the best idea. You shouldn’t stay around here for very long, especially by yourself. Someone may recognize you. And, depending on whatever kind of trouble Toriel is in, someone may _come_ _after you_ , too.

“Yeah,” you murmur, lost in your thoughts as you begin to hurriedly head home, “let’s go.”

* * *

You almost really messed up this time.

You don’t know _what_ was going through your mind when you almost confessed your feelings to Frisk—actually, you think you _do_ know what you were thinking; _nothing._  That’s just it; you _weren’t_ thinking—you were just so high on the thought that maybe _she could like you back,_ and the hope and happiness that came with it. You were blinded by it, by the determination to let her know. To just get it all over with and possibly, maybe, _hopefully_ be able to finally get what you’ve wanted for what feels like forever, now. Maybe it is. After all, isn’t Frisk what you always have wanted? Everything that you could’ve asked for and dreamed of?

Honestly, it’s no wonder that you do stupid things like almost confess even though you don’t know how she feels, and risk hurting your relationship (among other things, as well). But you really need to be so much more _careful_ . You’ve already messed up a huge relationship in your life—someone who you cared about so, _so much_ , someone who was practically your entire world at the time. Someone who you had vowed to protect. You’ve already lost someone who was indescribably important to you. You did it once, and you’re not going to do it again. You _have_ to learn from your mistakes. You can’t let that happen with Frisk. You can’t mess up your relationship with her. _You can’t lose her._

You know you can’t tell her. Not now. Not at this point, not when you don’t know if she feels the same. You’ve been over this before, but you just have to keep reminding yourself, so what almost happened early doesn’t actually happen.

It’s just so _easy_ to assume she feels the same. To imagine a future with her, to imagine being happy with her. Doing everything that you want to do with her. Having her be by your side for the rest of your life. Being able to love and cherish her, be with her in every sense of the word like you want so badly. It’s so easy to let yourself think that if you just _told her,_ she’d reciprocate your feelings, she’d want all of that too, and you could _finally_ _love_ _her_.

And you know you shouldn’t let your mind wander—you know, and you try to work on it, but you can never quite listen to yourself; listen to that better, logical part of yourself. But you _really_ just _can’t help_ but wonder if she may actually feel the same as you.

It’s possible, isn’t it? Even if the chances are fairly slim. After all, on the trip you both went on, she did say whoever she falls in love with, she wants them to be like you…

It’s funny, how far away all of that seems now. Even though it hasn’t truly been that long since, it feels like it was forever ago. Maybe because you’ve changed since then.

Thinking back to it, you kind of have to laugh at yourself. You were so blatantly in love with Frisk, even then. All of your incessant denial should’ve given it away to you, but… you weren’t ready to accept it then, you guess. You may still not have been when you did either. Truly, maybe you never would be.

You wish you would’ve savored that time you had been so close to her more. If only you had known then, you probably would’ve. You remember dancing with her, the way her body moved with yours, her nervous smiles, how she clung onto you, how brightly her eyes shined, how beautiful she looked. That was the first time you think you really noticed her beauty.

And you remember later that night when you had pinned her up against the wall, unzipped her dress and touched her. You remember how smooth her skin felt under your palm, how warm she felt, how she leaned into your touches, how she gasped quietly and tried not to make any noise. You remember noticing then how much you wanted her, all of her, how much you wanted to take off that dress and run your hands all over her body. You remember the way she looked at you, the way she said your name. You remember wanting to hear her say it louder.

You…

_Really want to do it again._

It’s a ridiculous notion, and you had promised both to yourself and to her that night that you wouldn’t do anything until she understood—until she knew what she wanted. And until _you_ knew what _you_ wanted, too, but, now, you’re sure of what you want, and _you want Frisk._

But, that brings you back to the question…

 _What_ _does_ Frisk want?

Or, maybe more accurately:

 _Who_?

Could it be you? Is the chance high enough for you to even slightly put your hope into the idea?

Once again, she practically _did_ say that she loved you, right? If she wanted to be with someone exactly like you, then…

Why? If that’s what she wants, then why doesn’t she just _be with you_?

Is it that she doesn’t think you would like her like that? Because that would be tragically ironic. Or does she simply not realize it? Is she possibly in denial like you were?

Maybe…

She’s afraid too.

Of course, this is all assuming that she _does_ love you. Like you love her. A part of you wonders if it’s because you’re both girls, but…

This _is_ Frisk that you’re talking about. Frisk who flirts with everyone of every gender—hell, she even flirted with her _own_ adopted _mother_ . Frisk who is ever merciful and loving, accepting everyone even if they hurt her. Even if they’re bad people. She always stays hopeful; she never gives up on anyone. You are very, _very_ doubtful that she would care about something as miniscule as gender. You would assume that, with how kind hearted she is, how full of love she is, that she would fall in love with someone for their personality, and not what’s in their pants. That’s just who Frisk is.

You could be wrong, but it just seems so unlikely that she cares about something like that. If she really loved someone, you don’t think it would matter to her.

If it’s not that, then…

...What if she _does_ like you? What if she just doesn’t want to tell you? Maybe for the same reasons you don’t want to tell her?

You guess, that _could_ be possible as well. Maybe when she said she’d want someone like you, she was trying to hint towards her true feelings. Maybe that’s why she’s so sweet to you, why she never gives up on you. Why she spends so much time with you, talks to you so much, why she gives you a lot of physical affection. But she doesn’t want to say anything because she’s afraid that there’s a possibility that you won’t like her back, and it could ruin the relationship. _Just like you._

That one’s definitely a stretch—how could she _not_ know that you like her like that? It’s so obvious; you don’t spend nearly as much time with anyone else as you do with her, you don’t let anyone talk or touch you the way she does, you hate humans but you still hang around her so much… You think, at this point, _mom_ may even know. Frisk is oblivious, definitely, but she’s smart. Even with her obliviousness, she should be able to realize it. How could she possibly _not_?—but, you can’t rule it out, as you don’t know for sure yet.

...She _has_ to like you back at least _a little. Right?_ You both have almost _kissed_ before, _multiple_ times, and you’ve been _so close._ So. _Close._ And she didn’t stop you. She enjoyed it, even, you’re sure. One of the times, the most recent, you think, she even pulled you closer to her.

Of course, even if you’re right, just because you want to kiss someone doesn’t mean that you like them. And if you _do_ _like_ them, it doesn’t necessarily mean that you _love_ them. But, she also is touchy with you. She flirts with you, even though she flirts with a lot of people, she mainly does it with you. She goes on late night walks with you, she talks for hours with you, she cuddles with you. She’s always with you, you know she likes spending time with you, she’s always there for you, always cheering you up when you’re sad, constantly checking up on you, making sure you’re okay and trying to get you to smile and constantly keep you happy… All of that, it… it can’t _just_ be because she simply likes you as a person, right? It can’t just be because she only likes you as a friend or a sibling, right? That’s more than just “like”, and it’s more than just loving someone as a family member. _Right?_

You collapse your weight into the wall behind you. This is killing you. You honestly just don’t know which one it is. You don’t know how she feels.

 _You could check,_ you find yourself thinking yet again. The barrier is so _thin_ , you know. But you’ve managed to not break the carefully built and carefully maintained privacy between the both of you thus far, and therefore you can continue to do so. No matter how much you want to do that, you can’t possibly let yourself. One, because it’s not right at all, and you wouldn’t want to do something like that to Frisk, and two because you’re afraid of what you may find. Finding out that way… that would be worse than having her tell you, you think. At least then you’d get somewhat of an explanation. And you shouldn’t do it now. Like you said, not yet.

_Not yet._

You know not yet. You know it’s not time and you’re not ready and you don’t think Frisk is ready and that would just be something else added on top of everything that she has to worry about now and you don’t need to give her something else to stress and worry over, but just…

 _Fuck_ , you love her _so much._

Honestly, it’s almost pathetic.

It _is_ pathetic. _You’re_ pathetic.

But…

This love means too much. The fact that you love her so much, that you can’t tell her or do anything is pathetic, but your love for her is _definitely_ not. Your love for her is passionate, strong, and colorful. It’s exciting and alive and sweet and warm. It’s meaningful and powerful, and you’re going to wait on it as long as you need to.

You can do it. You know you can. It’s just frustrating.

 _You’ve gone through worse,_ you remind yourself, and before you can produce another thought to throw you into another tedious reverie, you force yourself up and begin walking towards the door, but stopping before you go out, waiting for a moment to listen. You’re really not looking forward to going back out there, and you’d rather avoid your mother for as long as possible. You’re sure she’s going to want to talk to you about what happened, and right now you just don’t want to deal with that. Really, you just want to see Frisk.

To be honest, you’re not particularly mad over what happened—well, that’s kind of a lie, but you suppose you’re just more… irritated. Does mom really think you’re _that_ incapable? Does she really not trust you? You’ve done fine protecting Frisk thus far, have you not? Why is it necessary for the comedian to “protect her” as well? Mom has to know how much you hate him. Does she just not care? What’s really the _point_ of it?

It’s stupid, to say the least. And you hate that she made that decision, but you know how mom is. You doubt there’s any changing her mind on this. That’s not to say that you’re not going to try, but you’re not going to count on her siding with you, at this point. You’ll just have to try to find ways around it, you suppose.

Although, then again, you _were_ trying to move out and get a place of your own. It seems so long ago when you were thinking about that, and you mentioned it to Frisk. You haven’t talked about it with mom further at all recently. With everything that happened, it sort of just slipped your mind. After all, you weren’t really in a hurry or anything; it’s been nice just living with mom and Frisk. You originally wanted to move out because it felt wrong staying with mom still even though you’re older now, and you didn’t want to put any more stress on your mother than necessary. It’s not that you didn’t or don’t like it or anything; you think it would just be better that way. It would have to happen at some point.

But now, you guess you have an actual active incentive to, if the comedian is going to be hanging around all the time.

You haven’t really thought about it that much, either. You still want Frisk to move in with you. She’s getting older as well. But would it work better that way? And you’ve never truthfully lived on your own. How would you deal? Especially if you couldn’t get Frisk to come live with you right away? It’s gross to even think about, but… you’d probably get lonely.

Of course, you’d visit, but you feel like maybe living on your own would be unnecessary because you’d probably be spending most of your time at mom’s, still, if Frisk was still there.

You still need to figure that whole thing out.

There’s a sudden loud noise from downstairs, and you’re brought out of your thoughts, sitting up straight and continuing to listen. It sounded like the door opening, albeit roughly and hurriedly. You think you hear footsteps, and you find yourself slightly concerned. It could just be mom, maybe she went out somewhere and you didn’t hear her leave, but, by the sound of it, why would she practically slam the door open?

After not hearing it close, you reach for your pocket knife and slowly head downstairs, but before you can even step onto the floor, small hands are grabbing your wrist and pushing you back up.

“Frisk?” you call her name, alarmed by her actions and the urgency of them. Something has to be wrong. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” she says, still ushering you back upstairs, “I’ll tell you once we get to your room, okay?”

As soon as you’re door closes, you’re gently grasping her shoulder, getting her to look at you and inspecting her. Although she said she’s okay, that she’s not hurt, you can never be too sure.

“It’s okay,” she assures you, one of her own hands coming up to rest on top of the one you have on her shoulder, smiling gently, “ _I’m_ fine.”

“You’re?” you repeat at the stress in her voice. She sighs.

“Toriel went somewhere, just now,” she begins, the distress obvious on her face, “I, um. I kind of may have followed her. _But_ the important part was that I saw her with this… this _man_ ,” she crosses her arms, frowning and looking away from you. “He was dressed in all black, and… something about him was just _off_. He freaked me out. He should not have been associating with mom at all. Especially alone behind a building. They seemed to be… arguing.”

“Okay, wait, hold on a moment,” you stop her, still trying to process everything she said. She takes a sudden inhale now that she has the break, nodding at you, and if it wasn’t for the circumstances you’d probably tease her about it. “So… you went out, followed mom, and found her seemingly arguing with a strange, unknown man?”

“Yes,” she confirms, “well, Flowey sort of told me he thought something was up, but yeah. That’s what happened.”

Of course he did. You’ll have to talk to him later. “And you went _alone_?”

“Well…” she suddenly appears a bit guilty, glancing away from you, “yes.”

“Frisk,” you grab her hands, forcing her to look at you, “do you even have any idea how dangerous that was?”

“I know,” she murmurs, looking down again.

“You could’ve just gotten me.” You study her face, wondering why she didn’t do just that.

You don’t really have to think about it for long, though. She obviously didn’t want to endanger you, or have you worrying about it. She wanted to be able to do it on her own. She wants to be able to do everything on her own, to fix every problem on her own. Of course.

“I know,” she says again. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want you to—”

“None of that matters,” you interrupt her, already knowing what she’s going to say, “what’s most important is that you’re safe. Nothing else matters as much as your safety. Alright? It wouldn’t bother me, and you know I can keep us both safe. I _want_ to protect you, Frisk. I want to help you.” You run a digit along her cheek lightly, “You just have to let me.”

She blinks a couple of times, before pushing her face into your chest. “I will. I’m sorry.”

You look down at her, not being able to resist the smile creeping onto your face. You can’t possibly be mad at Frisk. You never can.

“It’s alright,” you allow, “just stop trying to do everything on your own.”

At this point, it’s almost as though her excessive and reckless selflessness has turned into some sort of self destruction. Only Frisk would be capable of doing something like that. It’s a true gift, you swear.

“I think mom has gotten herself into something bad this time,” Frisk murmurs into your clothing. You think you agree.

“You may be right.” You hate even thinking about it. You’re not really angry—or, as you liked to call it in the first place; _irritated_ —with her anymore. Not now. Maybe… she has reasons for what she did. Reasons that are actually reasonable. _Maybe._ But either way, it just doesn’t really matter much to you anymore. “But, we should not jump to conclusions just yet. I suggest maybe we talk to her about it first.”

“You’re right,” Frisk agrees, still not moving. You find yourself reaching up to smooth out her hair. “But… this is something I should do myself, I think. Since, you know. I feel like maybe it would look suspicious if we both went. It’s bad enough me confronting her at all.”  

Unfortunately, she’s probably right. You know how much Frisk hates things like confrontations, though, which is why you feel bad letting her do this all herself. “Yes, I see what you’re saying. Just stay calm, alright? Don’t take what mother may say personally. If there’s something she does not want you to know, she tends to get rather… defensive.”

“I learned that the hard way,” Frisk says with a wistful laugh, and you know exactly what she’s referring to. “I bet you did too.”

“Maybe.” You smile at her when she pulls back. “I’ll be here the whole time, okay?”

She smiles back. “Okay.”

Side by side, you both head downstairs, although you linger around the living room while Frisk goes into the room that has now become mom’s office. You hear the faint sound of their voices, and step a little closer, leaning your back against the wall and trying your best to listen in.

You find your thoughts drifting elsewhere, though. It seems to be happening a lot lately. It’s always the same thing distracting you. Always the same thing occupying your thoughts. Or, same person, rather.

Maybe… you kind of like it, though.

You let your head fall against the wall behind you, staring up at the ceiling but not focusing on anything in particular.

You still find yourself wondering…

_Could Frisk really love you back?_

* * *

As you walk into Toriel’s office, you really have no idea what to say.

You haven’t really had much time to think about it. Maybe you should’ve waited a little before you decided to talk to her, figured things out a little more, but…

Too late now, you guess. You feel like maybe you’d lose your nerve. That’s happened a lot with you before, after all.

“Hey, mom,” you greet softly, swallowing hard as she puts the stack of paper down she was looking through, glancing up at you through her reading glasses.

“Oh, hello, my child.” Her voice is tired, and you find yourself feeling slightly bad for doing this.

It’s what needs to be done, though. At least, when you examine her face, you don’t see any injuries. That’s not to say she may not have any, they could be on other parts of her body that you can’t see, but at least it gives you a bit of relief.

“Do you need something?” she asks, and you stay quiet for a moment, trying to think of even going about saying what you want to say. You can’t just tell her you followed her. But how else are you supposed to bring this up?

Slowly, you walk over to a chair next to her desk, pushing it over slightly so you can sit across from her. You take a few more seconds to try to come up with what you want to say, but you’re pretty sure that there’s no great way to go about this.

“Mom…” you begin, leaning forward and locking eyes with her. “You know, if you ever need to, you can talk to me and Chara about anything, right?”

That seems to surprise her, and you wonder if you should’ve said something else. You decide to go with it, and quickly add, “I know that we’re younger, and we’re your kids, but… we’re still here for you, and we still care. You know?”

She smiles warmly. “Of course I know that,” she replies genuinely, “You are a very sweet and thoughtful child, Frisk.”

Normally, you’d accept the praise happily, and you still feel as though you should, it’s not like you don’t appreciate it, but…

“So… if you’re ever in trouble or anything… you can talk to us. You don’t have to handle everything by yourself.”

As you say that, you realize how hypocritical you’re being; telling her not to try to bear everything by herself, when that’s _exactly_ what you do, and what Chara gets after you so much for.

You get it. You really, _really_ do. And especially because she’s an adult, especially because she’s your mother, there’s a good chance she wouldn’t talk to you and Chara about what’s going on. You wouldn’t really expect her to with her personality, either. But, even if the chance is low, even if you and Chara probably wouldn’t be able to do anything… it would help to at least have someone to confide in, right? She’d be a little less alone.

She probably doesn’t want to get the both of you involved, though. Which, once again, you _completely understand._ But you want to help her. You want to know what’s going on; if there’s anything you can do. You don’t want Toriel to be in danger.

It’s frustrating, you notice. This is probably how Chara feels, isn’t it?

“Do you think that I am in some kind of trouble?” she asks, thankfully not sounding irritated or defensive (although the question as a response to what you said is a little defensie in itself) but more just generally curious. Of course, you _do_ think she is in some kind of trouble—you sort of _know_ that she is. Some bad trouble, you’re pretty sure, as well.

“I meant it just generally. And, for future reference,” you answer, not really giving a direct answer to her question. “Unless, you are in some kind of trouble right now…?”

“No, no,” she assures you not swiftly enough to sound strange to anyone else, but swiftly enough to concern you, “nothing like that.”

Well. You guess she’s not planning on telling you what’s going on either way. Maybe, if you brought up the situation directly and confronted her about it, that would be practically forcing her to say _something_ about it and she’d at least explain it in the slightest. But maybe a part of you was just curious if she’d just tell you. You don’t know why you were wondering, because the answer was pretty obvious. You don’t know. You guess you just didn’t really feel like getting into a fight with her, either. Especially not when she has work tomorrow. You wouldn’t do that.

But…

This really isn’t something you think you should let go. Who knows what could be happening. There has to be _some_ _way_ you could help, even if mom may not think so.

You really think this isn’t something you should leave alone.

“That’s good,” you say in response despite your thoughts, “but I just wanted you to know. Chara and I love you a lot, mom.”

You think you see a flash of something in her eyes, but it’s so quick that you may have imagined it. “You do not have to worry about me, dear,” she replies, placing a caring hand on top of yours. “I love both you and Chara very much as well.”

You stay in place for a moment, forgetting about what you were really trying to do and letting yourself enjoy the affection that you never really got when you were younger. You’re so, so thankful to have someone like Toriel in your life. To have an actual mother, and one that loves and cares about you as much as she does.

You’re not about to knowingly let something bad happen to her.

“I’ll leave you alone now,” you announce, slowly pulling your hand from under hers and standing up. “Don’t stay up too late doing paperwork, okay?”

“I think that is what I am supposed to say to you,” she straightens the stack of papers on her desk, the glasses on her face falling back slightly as she tilts her head up to look at you. “Do not stay up too late either, Frisk.”

You smile, giving her a nod before leaving the room. Maybe you should’ve brought the situation up and been more direct about it, maybe you shouldn’t have. You’re not letting this go, not by a long shot, but you’re going to give it a little more time. You’ll continue to watch out for mom as best you can. You just really don’t want to fight with her. You know it would turn into one, if you were going to get the truth out of her. And not tonight. Not a day before she begins teaching.

You find Chara leaning up against the wall in the next room, seeming to have been listening in on the conversation. You rub the back of your neck, once again feeling maybe as though you may have made the wrong decision, and wondering if Chara would agree.

“It’s alright,” she says instead, “maybe it’s best to give it a bit of time, yes?”

“Yeah,” you agree, “maybe.”

She stands up straight, and you find yourself yet again disdainful towards your genetics with how much the height difference between the two of you is. “Are you going to bed?”

You shrug. “Not just yet, I don’t think. But, soon, probably. I’m kind of tired.”

“Alright,” there’s a playfulness to her demeanor now, “don’t stay up too late.” You jokingly nudge her. She continues. “Sleep well, when you do. If anything happens, I’m always in the next room.”

You hum. You hope tonight will be one of the rare lucky nights when you aren’t plagued with any bad dreams. Chara’s normally there though without you even having to go get her. You still hate bothering them with all of this, and you especially hope that you won’t wake Toriel up this time.

You… really are so lucky to have the both of them. Without them, you don’t think you could make it through any of this. Not by yourself. Everything is so much better like this.

So much better with Chara.

“Thank you, Chara,” you hear yourself say, overwhelmed with your gratefulness towards her, “for always being there for me.”

“Don’t thank me,” she seems to want to do something with her hands, possibly touch you, but then seemingly decides against it and drops them both at her sides, “it’s my pleasure.”

You’re not having that, though. You slowly wrap your arms around her, waiting for her to object, but feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist in response.

The embrace lasts a little longer than what would probably be considered normal, but that’s becoming a normal thing for the two of you. The warmth from it still lingers on you when you pull back, and you find yourself wanting to be in Chara’s arms again as you head to your room to probably go to sleep.

You consider that your goodnight for tonight, closing your door quietly behind you and then surveying the room to make sure Flowey hadn’t made his way into it before turning off the lights. You checked in with him earlier today, and you know he does his own thing. Although, you do keep close tabs with him, considering everything. But, you think he’s changed. He _has_ changed, changed from who he use to be. Maybe not in every way you’re thinking, but you know _something_ is different with him now than it was from before. You think, although he can’t feel, turning back into Asriel, everything that happened… it did something to him. In a good way, definitely, but you don’t know exactly what it is. You can just sense it. And you find yourself more trusting of him now.

But, just when the lights flicker off, you notice something white on your window, and you walk over to turn your bedside light on. Not being able to tell what it is from a distance, you head towards the window and stare at it, trying to figure out the mystery shape in the darkness.

You can’t really tell, but it looks thin and as thought it’s flapping in the wind. You open the window carefully (which, admittedly, you do struggle with a bit), reaching out and grasping for the object. As soon as you touch it, you realize it’s a piece of paper.

Curiously you take it off the window, placing it on the bed and closing the window. Sitting on your bed, you lift it to your face, reading over the words on the front.

_To Frisk._

That’s all it reads.

You open it up, wondering exactly what this could be. You really have no idea. There’s too many possibilities.

Inside the folded paper is…

 _A letter?_ For you?

At least, that’s what it looks like upon first glance. There’s a few paragraphs, all handwritten, and you see your name at the beginning.

You assume that it’s probably just someone who maybe knew you from before and is trying to get in contact with you again, or maybe, _maybe_ someone like a fan (if you think about it, that wouldn’t really be that crazy, would it?), but then, you begin to read it.

_Dear Frisk,_

_If you’re reading this, then it means somehow this go to you. Truthfully, I have been trying to reach you for a while, but I don’t think I have ever actually gotten through to you. Why that may be, I don’t know, but all that matters is that you’re reading this right now._

You shift, crossing your legs and putting your full weight onto your headboard. Who could this even be from? You don’t have any guesses. What exactly is this...?

You continue reading.

And as your eyes scan the next line, your heart stops.

_To be blunt, Frisk, I am your sister._

You stop reading. You stop _breathing_.

It’s already been quite a long day, but, unfortunately, you have this dreadful feeling that it’s going to be an even longer night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of plot, for once. swear the Real Romance is coming soon, though  
> take care of yourselves everyone! i'll try to update as soon as i can but with everything going on who knows when it'll be asdfghjkl  
> (also, should be answering comments soon, sorry, i've been so busy sigh)


	21. Treading in Hot Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You aren’t safe.  
> No one is safe.  
> And you can’t do anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally cannot believe it snowed where i live. it's april. it's spring. the ground was covered in snow. it was literally all white. this is so fucking ridiculous you guys have no idea how pissed i am about this  
> but. anyway.  
> a bit of a short chapter this time, but there's a lot of things i want to hit in the next few chapters. so, next one should be a lot longer. and, romance is coming! promise. also, tons of angst. and the more fucked up parts. look forward to it lol.  
> unfortunately, i'm traveling ~abroad~ down south, so i don't know when i'll be able to answer comments but?? i'll get back to you guys asap  
> have this for now
> 
> EDIT 5-20-18: hey! for all of you that care, i'm still alive!! just really super busy with a ton of stuff! i'm not sure exactly when i'll be able to get the next chapter out (+ answer comments), but it should be soon!!! updates should pick up again once this semester ends. 
> 
> EDIT: 6-17-18: still here... sorry for the hold up!! something came up for me recently which i'll explain into further detail later, but i should be able to get an update out within the next week or so :)
> 
> this chapter starts in chara's pov.

Just when you’re prepared to go to sleep, you run into Frisk on the way to your room.

“It’s kind of late,” you begin, reaching for the light behind you, “what are you doing u—”

As soon as you see her face, your words die in your throat.

“Hey,” you lower your voice, reaching out to brush your fingers against her face, “what’s wrong?”

Silently, she holds up a piece of paper to you, never once looking up from the ground. You gaze at her for a moment, wondering if she’ll glance up at you, and maybe explain what’s going on, but she doesn’t, so you take the paper and inspect it.

It seems to be…

Some sort of note? Or, maybe a letter?

Curiosity piqued, you shift, crossing one arm under your chest as you begin to read it.

It only takes you a few seconds to understand why Frisk is so shaken up by it.

You do your best to read the whole thing, but parts of it just piss you off so much that it’s hard to keep going and not to stop and comfort Frisk. By the time you’re done, there’s tiny indents from where your nails dug into the paper.

You fold it in half like it originally was, and then place it on a small table behind you. First thing’s first.

“Frisk, you have to understand,” you begin, walking back towards her, “what may have happened, what may be happening right now… none of it’s your fault.”

“I’m abandoning her,” she says desperately, “I can’t just leave her like this… all alone…”

She crosses her arms over herself tightly, staring straight at the ground. You think she may be shaking slightly.

“I didn’t even know I _had_ a sister,” she murmurs in disbelief, almost to herself, “I have to do _something_ —I can’t let her stay there.”

She sounds so scared, so desperate—and you don’t know how to help her, because you don’t know what to say. She’s right, if what the letter detailed is true; it _wouldn’t_ be right to let this go unnoticed. But it isn’t really her job to save this girl. It may not even be real, and there’s no telling if it is or not. And even if it is, she shouldn’t put herself in danger for someone else. She’s done it before, and far too many times. Enough damage has been done already. It’s time that it stops.

“I know I haven’t told you much about what my life used to be like yet,” you hear her say, “but… my home wasn’t the safest place. My father, he…” she turns away from you slightly. “He wasn’t the greatest person.”

The way she says it makes your chest physically hurt.

“Even if she has a different mother than I did, and the circumstances are different, I…” she shakes her head, “it’s still not safe for her there. You read it, didn’t you?”

“I did,” you confirm, “but, Frisk, what this person is asking you for…” you recall a certain part of the letter, where the supposed half-sister of Frisk mentioned needing financial assistance. “They asked you for _money_. Even if the letter is truthful, why are they reaching out to you now instead of years ago?”

Frisk doesn’t answer, staring hard at the floor, many conflicting emotions displayed on her face. You can tell she’s considering the possibility of it being some kind of hoax or scam, or at least maybe someone, even if they are a family member, trying to con money or fame out of her (maybe both), and not truthfully caring about her as a person.

Honestly, the whole thing seems strange to you.

Why, if this person is truly who they say they are, would Frisk’s half sister suddenly be reaching out to her now? You don’t know how old she may be, but from the wording of the letter, you’re assuming that she’s at least a teenager, meaning she’s had plenty of time to do it previously. It’s a little odd to you that “she’s” just reaching out now after Frisk’s name and face is all over the news and television. Not to mention the whole money part…

Whether it’s true or not, Frisk shouldn’t try to take action on her own. The situation this girl could be in is dangerous, and even though you wouldn’t trust humans to get the job done yourself, you’re not about to let Frisk to try to perform some rescue mission. Law enforcement should get involved, and then after the girl is taken out of the situation and her identity is confirmed, then Frisk can go and meet her. Of course, you still wouldn’t let her do that on her own, though, either. Who knows what this girl could want. _If_ she even is who she says she is, anyway. She may not even be a “she”.

“Either way,” you put your hands on Frisk’s shoulders, “nothing can be done right now, so—”

“I can tell mom,” she blurts, still not looking up at you, “...I can tell mom. She… maybe she can do something…”

You frown slightly, wishing she wouldn’t take this so seriously, as you can see how clearly it’s hurting her. But, maybe it would be for the best that mother was aware of this. At least, then, the chance of Frisk being able to something stupid is much lower.

“Alright.” You retract your hands, crossing you arms again. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Thank you, Chara, but…” she meets your gaze, and you find her signature determination within them, “I think this is a conversation I need to have with her myself.”

It seems there’s something she wants to bring up with her. You’re not really sure of what it could be.

_Unless…_

“Okay.” You brush your shoulder against hers gently as you walk past her. “Stay strong, love.”

For some reason…

You’re really not liking the feeling you’re getting about this.

###  _Chapter Twenty-One: Treading in Hot Water_

You find Toriel in the kitchen when you go downstairs.

After a brief exchange of small talk, you hand her the letter, and she begins reading it.

You swallow hard.

The seconds while you’re waiting for her to finish seem to drag on, and all you can focus on is trying to read her face.

When she’s done, she slowly brings it down from her face, placing it onto the counter. She doesn’t say anything, still looking at the piece of paper.

“Mom…” you say softly, put off by her silence. You’re not sure what else to say.

“Maybe, you should not call me that anymore, Frisk.”

You stop, your weight falling back completely onto your heels. _What…?_

“You want to go back, do you not?”

Go back?

No. _No. You don’t want to go back._ You’d rather go anywhere else but there. You’re not sure how she could even think that, and you realize that you should’ve thought about this more before you came to her and shoved the letter in her face. You didn’t think about how it would make her feel, or what assumptions she would make. You were just so scared and anxious, and…

You didn’t really know what else to do. You just felt the need to do _something._

“No, no, I—”

“It is okay, my c—Frisk,” she cuts you off, turning away from you, and you start to feel uneasy. “I completely understand. It was foolish of me to think that you would stay here forever, not when you have an entire family up here waiting for you, after all.”

“ _Mom, no!_ ” you quickly stop her before she can get too far, grasping her shoulder. She doesn’t turn around to face you like you were hoping she would. “I _don’t_ want to go back. I really, _really_ _don’t_. Truthfully, I…” you lower your eyes, “I really don’t have anyone waiting for me.”

The silence that follows is tense, but you try not to think about it. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment. “I want to stay with you. I told you that from the start. Why else would I have spent so much time here? I’m not going anywhere. I don’t _want_ to go anywhere. Please let me stay. This is my family. _You guys_ are my family. You’re who I love.”

At that, she does turn around, and you breathe a small sigh of relief. “I’m just scared, that’s all,” you continue, a bit softer. “I know what my father—my biological father—is like. Even if there’s a chance that this letter may not be entirely truthful, I don’t want to risk it. My dad, he…” you glance away, wishing that you were related to anyone else _but_ your biological parents, “he can be very cruel.”

You shake your head slowly, trying to keep images of memories from surfacing. “I would _never_ want to go back. And I don’t want anyone else being there, either. I’m… not sure what he may do.”

Toriel is still quiet, and there’s unreadable expression on her face. You would’ve thought she would be happy to hear you say that. Did you say something wrong…?

“Mom…” you reach for her, a feeling of dread gathering in the pit of your stomach at her behavior. You get a sudden urge to ask, “I know something’s going on. What’s wrong…?”

“Those scars that you have,” she begins, and you freeze, all of the thoughts momentarily clearing from your head, “are they from your father?”

You drop your hand, staring at her with wide eyes. How did she even _find out about_ …?

You guess maybe it would’ve been foolish to think you could hide something like that forever. The truth about your past life would’ve came out at one point or another. But…

You still can’t bring yourself to answer that. To tell the truth about what happened.

Toriel waits patiently for you to answer, but seems to realize that you’re not going to when you wrap yourself in your arms and refuse to meet her gaze. You expect her to get mad, frustrated—at least disappointed. But she doesn’t, and it makes dawns on you, even with her flaws, she’s a much, much better mother than you could ever ask for.

“Do not worry, my child,” she says instead, her voice taking on a more… darker tone, “I will not let anything happen to you. You are safe here.”

You know that tone. The one she used when you asked her to leave the Ruins for the first time. It makes you wary, but you don’t back down. You know her intentions are good.

“Mom?” You watch her carefully. “Please, just... tell me what’s going on. I _know_ that there is something. I want to know. I want to _help_.”

She doesn’t seem willing to tell you, but also doesn’t deny it. You feel a sudden burst of courage, and you open you mouth to say the first thing that comes to mind before you can think better of it.

“Mom, I saw you with that man earlier.”

This time, it’s her turn to tense up. You go on. “That’s why I asked earlier if you were any trouble.”

 _Because you knew she was._ You know she _is_.

“It is nothing that concerns you,” she tells you gently and too promptly, but you can hear the force behind the words warning you not to push, “do not worry about it, dear.”

“But I _do_ worry,” you frown, not really liking talking back to her but trying your best to stand your ground. You need to know. She could be in danger… “...You had money, didn’t you? What were you doing?”

You think she realizes that you’re not going to let this go, and even if she doesn’t tell you, you already know too much. She sighs, and you hold your breath. “Legally, monsters are not considered citizens as of right now. As the paperwork for your adoption was never fully completed, if it is decided I am not fit to be your mother…”

“...I could be taken away,” you finish for her, your voice barely above a whisper. A sinking feeling spreads throughout your body as your mind begins to work out the pieces. “You were paying him to…”

“He’s helping to ensure your safety,” is the vague explanation you get, and you’re struggling to process all of this.

Toriel is paying someone off who… somehow ensures that you can stay here with her? That you’re not taken away? Is _that_ _legal_? You’re sure it’s not. And just who is this man, anyway? _How_ is he making all of this happen?

There’s no way he’s doing this out of the sheer goodness of his heart. There’s no way he’s not dangerous himself. Not to mention who he could possibly work for…

And even so, there’s no telling that you’re actually safe. Who _knows_ who this guy is. Who knows why he’s doing what he’s doing and how. If there’s any complications, if anyone is caught…

“I have to know one more thing.” You can’t bring yourself to look at her, your hair falling into your face as you keep your head down. She doesn’t answer, but you think she nods.

“To your knowledge…”

You take another deep breath.

“Did my parents ever try to get me back?”

You wait for an answer with baited breath. You can hear your heart pounding in your chest.

You need to know.

“Please… tell me the truth. Even if… it may hurt me.”

“From what I have been told,” she starts, and your nails dig into your arms in nervous anticipation. You can tell she doesn’t want to say whatever it is. You don’t think you’re going to want to hear it, either. “Your family did not even report you missing.”

…

Her words hang in the air, and for some reason, it feels anticlimactic.

You don’t feel anything.

It’s just…

Numb.

“Your father has mentioned you a bit,” you hear Toriel say sympathetically, “although... he seems to only be interested in money.”

At least…

You’re thankful she told you the truth.

A bitter bitter laugh escapes your lips. “That… really sounds like him.”

You can feel her gaze on you, and you can tell she’s worried. You want to reassure her, but maybe she has a reason to be.

“Mom,” you start suddenly, straightening yourself up completely. You’re surprised by how steady and resolute your voice sounds. “I have to save my sister.”

She doesn’t appear to know what to say, opening her mouth but shutting it again. You can see the worry on her face, now. You want to tell her that everything’s fine, _you’re fine,_ to thank her for telling you everything straight and to assure her you’re going to help her with whatever trouble she’s in with this mystery man and that you’ll all be a happy family in the end.

But that wouldn’t be true, would it? You don’t know any of that for sure.

“They’re going to hurt her,” you try to explain, and you can feel your composure starting to wear, “ _he’s_ going to hurt her. She’s not safe there. I can’t let her stay there, I’m the only one who _knows,_ I’m the only one who can _save her_ …”

_Save her…_

“I can’t let what happened to me happen to her,” you hear yourself say it, but it’s like you’re far away from your body. Everything still feels so numb. So far away. But you’ve realized something. Something important, and you try to get yourself to come back. “Mom…” She’s watching you with a concerned, hurt expression, not seeming to know whether to try to comfort you or not. “...Why didn’t anyone save _me_?”

_You clearly remember asking for help._

_You remember thinking you had gotten it._

_You remember thinking you were safe._

_You remember_ being taken advantage of.

...Your cheeks are wet.

You’re crying.

“I can’t go back…” you’re grabbing at your hair, trying to bring yourself back with the pain, but it can’t distract you from the building anxiety, “I need to _save her_ but I _can’t go back there_ , I can’t, I can’t, I can’t _—please don’t make me,_ ” you add when she begins approaching you, trying to stumble backwards but not getting far.

“Oh, Frisk,” is all she says, and then enfolds you into a tight hug.

And then you fall apart.

You’re crying, you’re _sobbing,_ and it hurts. You can barely catch your breath as you heave into Toriel’s clothing, grasping tightly onto it. It feels like it’s the only thing from keeping you from literally breaking into a million different pieces.

You’re not sure exactly why you’re crying so hard. Really, you shouldn’t even be surprised. Your family _never_ loved you. You know that. You really always have.

But…

Somewhere, in the deep, deep dark recesses of your mind, the irrational corners—you think you held a secret hope that your family may actually take you back. At least, that they’d want you. Reach out for you. You always had this fantasy of running away and getting hurt and your parents finally realizing how hard you worked to impress them; all the things you did to try to earn their love and compassion. That they’d realize that maybe you weren’t such a bad child after all, and how much they cared about you. Even if it was the tiniest bit of compassion you’d accept it with open arms and you’d be the perfect daughter. You didn’t think you’d actually carry out this dream (of course, in the end you were forced to) but you never considered any other possible outcomes. You tried to tell yourself to forget about it, that it would never happen, but...

Nothing would wipe out this stubborn hope you harboed.

Until today.

Until now.

Now, you know for sure they don’t care. That they don’t love you.

That _they never did._

In fact, it seems they replaced you.

And that _poor girl_. Your half-sister. They’re going to hurt her. They probably already have. And you can’t do anything.

She’s going to become _just like you did._

And if your parents did ever decide to take you back—for whatever screwed up reasons and things they wanted to do to you—they _could_. They could take you away and there would be nothing you—nothing Toriel and nothing Asgore could do. Because, legally, they technically don’t even exist here.

You aren’t safe.

No one is safe.

And you can’t _do anything_ about it.

Even as Toriel tries to comfort you, rubbing your back and whispering small encouragements, assuring you that she won’t let anyone take you away or anything bad happen, that she’s going to find a way to help your sister…

You don’t really hear it.

Because you’re beginning to understand something else.

No one can ever take the place of your parents.

Not Toriel, not Asgore, not Sans, not Chara. Not anyone.

You love them all to bits, and you consider Toriel the mother that you never had and Asgore the father that was never there for you but nothing will ever replace your _real_ parents. Your real parents that gave birth to you. That _made_ you. Your real parents that don’t even _want_ _their own daughter_. Nothing will ever be able to replace the love that was denied by the ones that brought you into this world. You will never have _true_ _parents_ who love you. Even if Toriel loves and takes care of you, nothing will fill that space in yourself. You will always be without it. It’s always going to be a void in you, a part of you that you won’t be able to satisfy. To fix. To get rid of. It’s always going to affect your relationships and your decisions in the future.

Everything that happened…

It’s going to affect you in some way shape or form.

Really,

_you never even stood a chance._

You will always been unwhole.

_You will always be alone._

* * *

You slide down on the wall against your back, dropping onto your knees. What you’re hearing is breaking your heart. You want to go out there, to comfort Frisk, to hold her and tell her it’s she’s safe, you won’t let anything happen to her, and _you’ll kill anyone that tries to hurt or take her,_ but you can’t bring yourself. Because…

_How could you not have realized it before?_

You love Frisk. You want to be with her.

How could you be _so selfish?_

What Frisk needs right now isn’t a lover. What Frisk needs right now isn’t a girlfriend, a datemate, a romantic partner. None of those things.

What Frisk needs right now…

_Is a family._

A _sister_.

How could you love her so recklessly? How could you even _think_ about confessing?

But…

Even though you know that, even though you want to be what she needs, you want to help her and heal her like she did to you…

You can’t make yourself _stop_ . You’ve tried so _hard_ , on _many_ different occasions.

You…

You bring your knees up, crossing your arms over them and burying your head in them in resignation.

_You don’t know how long you can keep hiding this._

* * *

You open your eyes to semi-darkness, blinking a couple of times to get used to it, before trying to glance around.

You’re in your bedroom. Your hand automatically goes to feel beside you, but finds nothing.

That’s right. Chara doesn’t normally spend the whole night with you.

You know that. You should be used to it by now. But for some reason, it still just makes you feel a little more alone each time.

“I don’t get it.”

You startle slightly, whipping your head to your side to see Flowey.

God, _literally_ _every time._

You calm yourself down, getting into a somewhat-sitting position, pulling the blankets up to your chest. Well, at least you’re not completely alone tonight. He looks over you, although his gaze is neutral. More like… he’s trying to figure out something.

“What don’t you get?” you ask quietly, your voice a bit raw. You feel tired, it’s hard to keep your eyes open and your head hurts, but you’ll talk to him. You feel like being kept company right now, anyway.

“You went through so much to get here.” His voice is fairly soft as well, something abnormal for him. “You were killed so many times. Yet you somehow managed to let it go, and now you consider your killers your family.”

You nod slowly and regret it, the pain in your head flaring up considerably even if you weren’t jerky about it.

“You went through so much shit to get to where you are now. You had to make so many sacrifices, most of which that you had nothing to gain from if not something to lose from, and now…” he seems to get a bit angry, his strangely calm gaze now turning into more of a glare, “now you still choose to keep everything a secret?”

Your breath hitches a little.

He was listening.

Of course he was listening. That’s what he does. You really should start keeping better tabs on him, to be honest. It doesn’t really startle you when he randomly disappears, as you normally see him somewhere around the house at some point, and you figure he’s just kind of… around… but maybe it should. You try to trust him, you know he won’t do anything really bad, but, still…

You don’t say anything.

You don’t have an answer for that.

“Don’t tell me that you don’t still hold it against everyone. What they did to you, I mean.” He goes on. “Even for someone like you, there’s no way you could possibly forget being _murdered_ by them.”

 _Of course you can’t forget._ You never have. No one could forget that. You... try to look past it. It’s really hard sometimes and it still _scares_ you and you still _feel things_ about it. You still dream about it. You still flinch sometimes when one of your friends puts their hand up in the slightest way. You still start panic even at the smallest sign of anger. And that’s not just from your past life, either. Because just thinking about it is starting to make you feel anxious, and you grip the covers tighter.

“So… if you have to work so hard to be around everyone, to live with them… why? You put yourself through so much unnecessary trauma, just to not tell them _anything?_ To not trust them at _all_?”

You _do_ trust them…

Right?

“I…”

_You want to tell them._

_You want to tell them everything._

You want to be able to move on. To get better. To heal. To accept it all.

 _You want to be accepted._ And you don’t want to deal with it all alone, either.

But…

“I can’t,” it comes out as a whisper before you can even let yourself _think_ about it. “I just _can’t._  No. I can’t do that.”

You can feel him looking at you, and…

You kind of want to tell him.

He… at least, he deserves it, doesn’t he? He’s told you some personal things, even if a lot of it was as Asriel. It wouldn’t really be fair if you didn’t tell him _anything_.

Then again, it’s like that with you and Chara as well. So maybe you’re being unfair to both of them.

But… there’s something about your relationship with Flowey that makes you feel a bit more… comfortable about telling him personal things. That sounds sort of bad, and it’s not like you value him any less than any of your other friends, but, for some reason… you just feel like you can be more honest with him. That you can tell him some of what you aren’t telling your friends and your family. You aren’t sure of the exact reasoning.

You’re not sure if it’s really a good idea, though. And with your head still fogged over by your sleepiness and pain flaring up whenever you try to think hard about something, you don’t think you’ll be able to come to a sensible decision right now, either.

“Look,” you decide you owe him an explanation, though, “the life I had before I fell… it’s something that I want to forget. If I tell everyone what happened,” you give him a sad smile, “they’re never going to look at me the same way ever again.”

Of course, with the legality of you staying with Toriel up in the air and your sister reaching out to you, you’re not sure just how much longer you can go on pretending that your past never existed. People are going to start asking questions, searching around, digging up certain things about yourself that you would like to stay hidden…

It almost makes you laugh to think about it. Not because it’s actually funny—it’s not—but because after everything, after going through the entire Underground, dying about a million times, _going back in time_ to fix your mistakes, just to get a perfect, happy ending, and that could be how it turns out. You had a second chance and you _took it_ , you did your best and you tried to save everyone, _you’re still working on it,_ you showed everyone Mercy and you were as good as you could be. And, even though you thought you did everything right, that you’re doing your best to continue doing everything right, this new image of yourself that you’ve made, this new person that you are, it all may be reversed. And that’s just so _unfortunate,_ so _unfair,_ that even if you do everything right it can all still go wrong, that it’s just something you have to laugh at.

“Frisk, do you _really_ _think_ any of them care about what happened before you fell?”

You balk at him. “What are you talking about?”

“They care about you and you _now_ ,” he explains to you as if you’re stupid for thinking otherwise, “either way, you broke the barrier and saved all of them—... all of _us_ from the Underground. Most of them would probably be blinded by that fact, anyway. After all, you are _the_ _savior._ ”

He says “savior” in a sort of mocking tone, but you get the idea that he’s just saying that to make it sound more… well, _Flowey-y_. You think he does that a lot, when saying more emotional and serious things. His compliments are really only ever backhanded. But maybe that’s the only way he can get across those kinds of things.

“It’s not like they’d disown you or stop talking about you just because you did some bad thing years and years ago.” You think he’s trying to get some sort of response out of you, but now you’re actually thinking about it a little. Could you really… “I mean, it may ruin your _perfect little image_ that you care so much about, but it’s not like you could keep that up forever. One day or another they’d find out about _how much of a bad person you really are._ ”

You jolt upwards and glare at him. “Flowey!”

“I’m just kidding. Of course.” You really don’t think he is, since that definitely seems like something he would say, but then he says, “honestly, it’s not like whatever you did could be any worse than what any of them did to you.”

You drop your head again. Is that really true?

“Either way, I just think it’s _stupid,_ ” he concludes, “after going through all the stupid shit that you did just to not rely on anyone is stupid.” He looks over your face, as if to cement everything he said to you, and then looks to the side and brings his leaves up in what you can assume is the closest to a shrug a sentient flower could do. “But, if you’re determined to keep your secrets, hell knows I won’t be one to bring them out of you.”

You can’t think of a response. Is it really that easy? Is it really that simple? Would they really not care that much? Would any of it not really matter anymore, because it was so long ago? Because you’re a different person now?

Could you really do that? Could you really bring yourself to tell them everything that happened?

_Everything you did?_

Even if you’re still not sure...

You feel a little lighter now.

“...Thanks,” you murmur, settling back into bed slowly. He doesn’t answer, just sort of looks at you, but you reach out and touch his pot gently, and he doesn’t protest, even leaning down slightly towards your hand, and there’s something unspoken exchanged between the two of you. You don’t know exactly what it is, but you feel it.

When you do fall asleep again, it’s after countless minutes (possibly hours) of thinking about what Flowey said to you.

You’re still conflicted, but now, you think there’s maybe a chance that you may open up. Even if it’s just a little.

  


You wake up to the smell of cooking.

You sit up, stretching and getting out of bed. You’re alone. Flowey’s gone. You wonder where he wandered off to…

For a moment, a very brief moment, you consider the idea of him being the one cooking. You’re not sure how that would work at all, but an image of him balancing ingredients in his vines and trying to manage a dish over the stove comes to mind, and you find yourself laughing softly despite the circumstances.

And then, the moment’s over, and you’re heading downstairs still feeling fairly lethargic. You feel better today, though. You think, after crying so much, after dealing with everything even if was just a little bit, and then sleeping on it for a good amount of time…

You feel a little better now. Slightly more healed and a tiny bit more refreshed. Even if you’re still dealing with it, you’re a little better today.

You expect to see Chara in the kitchen cooking as you enter, since Toriel’s at work right now (you still feel guilty about keeping her up late last night, but you suppose it really couldn’t have been helped), but you’re completely caught off guard.

Instead, it’s Sans.

You jump and gasp softly, a little more surprised than you probably should be considering you just woke up, and immediately regret it, embarrassed by your state and trying to quickly right your clothing and fix your hair before he can turn around and notice your presence.

“mornin’, sweetheart.”

 _Well, too late_ , you guess.

He doesn’t even have to turn around to look at you. He just knows that you’re there.

 _How could you forget Sans and his all knowing abilities_. You still try and make yourself look as presentable as you can before continuing your walk towards him, though.

“G-Good morning,” you stutter, like you usually do when you’re around him, leaning over the counter. It’s strange to see him cooking, so easily and relaxed. Since when did he know how to cook?

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook,” you comment, watching him as he prepares eggs over the stove. For some reason, it’s just so out of place to you. He’d be the last person you’d think would know how to cook, or would even want to.

He almost smirks a little, seeming proud of himself. “‘course i do,” he replies, “who do you think fed paps when he was a babybones?”

That makes you pause, and you frown when you realize the meaning of the words. You weren’t the only one, it seems.

“Ah… I’m sorry,” you apologize genuinely, although, a bit of you is excited to have learned a tiny bit of his past. You find yourself wanting to know more, to ask questions, but you can tell it’s a sensitive topic and you don’t feel like pushing it.

“nah, don’t be,” he replies, sparing you a nonchalant glance, “i don’t care about any of that kind of stuff anymore. it was a real long time ago. and, hey, at least i learned a valuable skill.”

That… is one way to see it. You would’ve never thought about it that way. You guess… that could apply to you too, although even after trying to feed yourself for so long, you still aren’t very good at cooking. So you didn’t really learn anything valuable. You just kind of suck at everything. You’re sorta used to it by now, though.

With that new piece of information, however, you begin wondering what kind of childhood he had, even if you aren’t going to ask. Not right now. You and Sans are pretty close (you think? You would hope) but you don’t feel like it’s your place to ask about something like that at this point. You guess his parents weren’t around. But did they care? _Who_ even _are_ his parents? Were they… abusive?

That makes you frown. You would really hope not.

But you don’t know. Truthfully, you don’t really know that much about Sans.

To an extent, though, you suppose that it’s kind of exciting. Because now you’re getting the chance to find out more about him. To get to know him. You’re excited to.

You make small talk with him. Ask how everything’s been, if he slept well. You jump up on the counter beside him while he cooks, laughing when he gives you a look. He lets you, though, despite shaking his head and rolling his eyelights. And…

This is nice. You like this. It feels normal. It feels right. You’re looking forward to being able to spend time with him like this more often. To just hang out. Hang out and talk and laugh. This is how it should be.

“By the way… where’s Papyrus?” you ask after a small but comfortable silence. You haven’t really seen him in a while, which is sort of weird to you, as the brothers are normally attached at the hip. The last time… it was at the Christmas party, you think. Gosh, it’s really been a while.

You’ve noticed Sans never really brings him around here. You would have expected them to come together, when Sans comes, but most of the times Sans has come over hasn’t really required Papyrus’s presence. You have to admit, though, you miss him.

“he’s at home,” he replies simply. Well… okay.

“You should bring him around sometime,” you suggest. He doesn’t look up at you this time.

“yeah,” is all he says, leaving you to wonder if you said anything wrong. Is something going on with Papyrus, maybe? Why else is he acting like this?

You’re going to ask, to make sure everything’s okay, but the food is done and you let it go. For now.

You sit down with Sans to eat, but pause for a moment when you notice the absence of Chara. She tends to get up earlier than you, so you’d assume she may already know that Sans is here and chose to stay away, but you still feel bad eating without her. You know there’s food in the fridge, so it’s not like it’s really that big of a deal if she just misses breakfast, but…

“how is it?” Sans’s snaps you back to reality, and you blink a couple of times before understanding his question.

“O-Oh! The food is good,” you reply genuinely. You’re actually a little surprised. “You’re a really good cook, Sans. Thank you.”

He seems satisfied at that, if not even a little embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. “‘s nothing, really.”

You finish your food whilst having light conversation with Sans, not really talking about anything in particular. There’s an occasional pun here and there, just like with any conversation with Sans, and you laugh, of course, like you always do, but you’re distracted. You’re thinking about something else.

You think… you have an idea.

It may not be the best one, and you’re not sure how it’s going to work out at all, but hey, you won’t know until you try. You really have nothing to lose, you find, as you think about it, so honestly, why not.

After Sans finishes what he was just saying, you get up with a “I’ll be right back”, and go up to your room to get something, coming back down quickly with a little bit of nervousness.

“Can I ask a favor of you?”

You fold your hands behind your back, standing in front of Sans. He gets up, mimicking your stance, and you don’t know if it’s on purpose or not.

“sure,” he says, giving you a curious look. “bring it at me.”

You’re not sure just how much Toriel told him or if she said anything at all to him, but you think you’ll go with the latter upon seeing his reaction when you unfold the piece of paper you brought down and hand it to him

“Sans.” You say his name after giving him a moment to at least skim the letter, meeting his eyes as he glances up at you rather concernedly, “If it’s not too much trouble, I… would like you to help me find my sister.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” you add hurriedly at his expression, “and I’m sorry that I’m getting you involved in this, but I’ve already talked to mom about it, and she feels like it’s too dangerous for me to even really try to associate with her, and I can understand that, there’s a possibility that this may not even be real at _all_ , but I need to know, and that’s what I’m asking, because if there’s even a possibility that this is real and I have a sister, then I need to get her _out_ of that house, and—…” you stop yourself before you can say anything else, slouching your shoulders guiltily when you look back up at Sans. He sighs.

“sit down, kiddo,” he says, pulling out a chair from the table you were just eating at and taking a seat himself, pointing to the one across from him. “let’s talk.”

You do. And you do talk.

After Sans reads the rest of the letter, he asks you what you know. You explain that it was placed on your window, and you had no idea you had any other siblings prior to getting the it. You were an only child. It was lonely. “When it wasn’t any of his other friends, my dad would often have women over,” you say, feeling proud of yourself for saying that much, even if it’s not completely telling. “So… it would make sense to me.”

Of course, you don’t mention how both your dad’s friends and his girlfriends (literally) treated you, but that’s a conversation for a different time.

“I don’t know why my dad’s letting her live with him,” you admit, maybe a bit jealous. Why does he want _her_? She can’t be the only daughter of a woman your dad got pregnant. Or… is it possible they had her on purpose? Did you dad just not want _you_? “But… I guess I really don’t know a lot of the details. I’m not very helpful. I’m sorry.”

It’s entirely possible that your dad just acted the way he did towards you, _isn’t it?_

The only thing you know for sure from the letter is that they’re in a money crisis. That’s nothing new. And although it did sound like she wanted to get out of the house, it was never explicitly mentioned that dad was treating her badly. Treating her _the way he treated you._

But, even if he may not be hurting her in any way, you still don’t feel comfortable knowing she lives under the same roof as him.

“I want to know if she exists for sure,” you tell Sans, “and then… I want to meet her. I want to make sure she’s safe there, and if she’s not, then I’ll do something about it. But I can’t just ignore this.”

Even if people abandoned you…

That doesn’t mean _you_ have to abandon her. She’s _not_ going to go down the path you did. You won’t let that happen.

“...alright.”

You drop your hands onto the table. “Alright?”

“i’ll help ya,” he clarifies, “sounds like you didn’t live in the best household, huh? wouldn’t want to leave anyone else there, either.”

You beam at him. You didn’t actually know if he would or not. You felt so helpless. You thought at the very least you have to explicitly detail _why_ you’re so scared to let her live there, and that would lead to a lot of different questions that you don’t think you’re ready to answer, but Sans, he… he just agreed. He doesn’t know exactly what’s going on but he took the hint. And he’s going to help you. Everything… everything may be okay. With this, at least. And that’s one less problem to worry about. One more step closer to having your true happy ending.

You get up and hug him. “Thank you, Sans. It means _so much._ ”

You’re not exactly sure what you’re going to have to do. You don’t know if this may lead Sans to find out about certain things that you still want to keep from everyone. You don’t know if those things could be revealed to everyone. But you know if your sister is safe, safe from you father, safe from that house… it’s worth it.

And… you still remember what Flowey said. It may not be as bad as you’re thinking.

You’re _so grateful_ to have Sans.

“heh…” you feel him put a hand on your back and pat you twice, “what are friends for, sweetheart.”

Then…

You’re really grateful that he’s your friend. You treasure him and care about him so much.

When you part, you’re still smiling.

“i don’t think there’s much i can do right now,” he says, gesturing towards the letter, “but do you mind if i take that home? i’ll look into everything and get back to ya.”

“Go ahead.” You walk out back in front of him. “Thank you, Sans.

"...Also," you idly pass a hand through your hair, a bit ashamed of asking him something else but wanting to say something to someone before you forget, "do you think that it would be possible for me to officially change my last name? As in, legally? I know it's pretty much 'Dreemurr' already, and most people don't have my actual last name, but... I want to cut all ties to my old family, besides my sister."

He doesn't seem surprised at all by your request. "yeah, i'm sure that could be arranged. i'm probably not the one to be asking, but i'll see what i can do."

You think, even if you haven't really told him anything yet, that he understands you weren't in the best situation when you lived with them. You appreciate it—that he believes you and is empathetic towards you, without demanding you show him some sort of 'proof'. It comforts you. You think... you'll be able to tell him things easily, when you do.

"try not to worry about it too much, if you can," he adds, "i won't let anyone bother you. if you don't want to go near your family, then you don't have to, and i won't let them come near you, either. kay?" 

Toriel must've talked to him before she left. You knew from the beginning you had people to protect you, and you sure as hell know Sans can protect someone if he wants to, but just hearing him say it makes you feel a lot better.

"Thank you Sans," you find yourself saying for the third time, "again." 

There’s a few seconds where you’re both just looking at each other, _smiling_ at each other, and it makes you nervous and excited at the same time. You let yourself enjoy it, but then your nervousness overtakes the happiness and excitement and you’re searching for something else to say. Lucky for you, you suddenly remember something that you were meant to mention earlier but forgot.

“Oh! By the way, apparently Mettaton has a new TV show airing today. Do you, um…” you avert your gaze, “want to check it out with me?”

You’re pretty sure Sans wouldn’t like it. You’re pretty sure _you_ won’t like it. But that’s the fun part.

He seems to catch on to your thinking. “why not? been wonderin’ what that toaster’s up to, anyway.”

That gets an unexpected laugh out of you.

You end up spending a good majority of the morning listening to Sans make fun of Mettaton’s dramatics, and laughing until you’re nearly in tears. It’s one of the better days you’ve had in a while. You needed this. You have fun. You enjoy it.

You really like Sans.

  
  


A few minutes after Sans leaves and Toriel returns, Chara comes down.

“Chara!”

You run up to her, having not seen her the entire day. That’s really not a while, but normally you guys spend most of your time together. You did have fun with Sans, but… it wasn’t the same without her, either.

“Sans is gone,” you say before she can ask. “I… missed you.”

She smiles a little at that, even if it is a little smug. “You’re clingy.”

“I-I’m not—!” She raises a brow at you, as if daring you to try and argue with her, and you stop. “Okay, fine. I am. Just a little, though. Excuse me for caring about you.”

She feigns surprise, mockingly putting a hand over her chest. “You care about me? My, Frisk, I didn’t happen to notice. How sweet.”

You nudge her. She turns more serious, crossing her arms. “Alright, I’m just teasing. Is something wrong?”

“Well… no, not really.” You ponder it. You do want to ask her about something, but you’re not exactly sure about how to go about it. “I was just wondering how you are, I guess. You know, with Sans around the whole day. I know how much you dislike him.”

She grimaces at the mention of him. “Dislike is an understatement.”

“Um… may I ask exactly why you don’t like him?” You know it’s probably a stupid question and she may get irritated with you, but you don’t think you’ve ever outright heard her say specifically _why_ she hates him so much.

You’ve heard her comment on certain things he’s done and that she doesn’t like them, but never, like, _certain_ reasons why. It’s probably foolish to think they’d ever be able to actually be friends, but you really wish they would be able to get along. Especially now since Sans is going to be around the both of you a lot more. You adore Sans, but you don’t want to lose Chara in the process.

“Really? I think I’ve told you many different reasons before,” she does seem a bit annoyed that you’re asking, but still tells you anyway. “I hate his attitude. The way he acts—even around people he does not know—he’s so informal and lazy. And incredibly obnoxious. Oh, and selfish. He doesn’t think about the way his actions affect other people. All he really cares about is himself and his brother.” Okay, you do remember her mentioning that she really didn’t like the way he acted at one point. When you first came upon him in the Underground, actually. You remember trying to tell her to give him a chance, and then being somewhat told off. “And I don’t like the way he treats you, either. The way he just disappeared and won’t tell anyone where he was and what he was doing. He knew that you cared about him, and he still did it anyway, without contacting you in any way. It was ridiculous. Not to mention how he blatantly threatened you _multiple times_ while he _knew_ that you cared about him, and you were trying your best for him. He likes to act like he doesn’t know how much you care, but he does. He does and he takes advantage of it.”

Yeah, you remember a lot of that too. “There’s too much that we both don’t know about him. He’s hiding too many things.” She pauses, and then her demeanor changes from being completely annoyed to more contemplative and dare you say… maybe even fearful? “There’s _something_ about him. I don’t know exactly what it is but it… it’s _wrong._ There’s something _off_ with him. I know he’s capable of so much more than he lets on. I feel like… one day he could really hurt you.”

A flash of recollection. _Bones in your stomach. Choking on your blood. Begging for mercy. His grin being the last thing you see before you die._

Chara seems to feel it too. “No, that’s not right,” she murmurs, her gaze going hard. “Frisk… he _has_ hurt us _before_ . He’s _killed_ us. _Many times_.”

You know he killed you _once_ in one timeline. You dreamt about it and you told him, and he admitted it. He apologized.

But…

Many times?

There’s no way you can disprove that. She may very well be right.

Just how many timelines _are there_ ? How many bad runs have you _had?_ And how does Chara know? She doesn’t remember any of it either, you thought?

 _What else could he have done to you?_ What did _you_ do to warrant it?

“You know that, though, don’t you, dear?” She gets just close enough to cup your cheek, stroking it with her thumb. Her tone and her eyes are loving, but at the same time… there’s something else lying under the surface that isn’t so nice. Something that makes you shiver involuntarily. “He’s dangerous. But, don’t worry, I won’t let him hurt you again. I’m going to protect you. I’ll _kill him. I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you._ ”

You take a step back. “Ch-Chara?”

At the sound of you saying her name, she seems to snap out of it, blinking a couple of times and dropping her hand. She brings it up, though, to her face soon after, staring at it as if it wasn’t hers. “I… I don’t know what that was. Something… came over me.”

She suddenly appears distant and lost in thought. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her act like that before.

“Chara?” She brings her eyes up to yours, and you try to find answers within them, “are you okay?”

“...I’m fine,” she assures you, although she doesn’t really seem very “fine” to you. “I… just thought I...” she shakes her head, “nevermind.”

“Chara, what—?”

You begin trying to ask her what happened anyway, but you’re interrupted by Toriel entering the room.

“Ah, hello, my children,” she says, approaching the both of you. You glance at Chara worriedly, but she seems to be a bit more… present than she was before. Which is a good thing, but that was still… concerning. You make a note to bring it up again later.

“As you both know, you are going to be attending school tomorrow.” You inwardly sigh. You almost forgot about that. _Almost._ “I have school supplies laid out for you both on the counter. I do not know if I will see you two tomorrow morning, as I have to leave early, so, I hope that you both have a good day tomorrow. Call either Sans or I if you have any problems.”

You both nod. “Okay, mom. Have a good day at work tomorrow.”

She smiles, individually hugging the both of you. “Goodnight. Sleep well. Do not stay up too late, you two.”

This time, it’s Chara who speaks. “We won’t.”

Mom leaves, and you can’t ignore your impending nervousness about tomorrow anymore.

“I really am not feeling school tomorrow,” you admit, leaning over the counter in front of you.

“Me neither.” She sighs, seeming to share the sentiment. “I’ll be with you, though.”

“And I’ll be with you,” you say, almost automatically, staying in place. The silence that follows is peaceful.

“...Come hang out with me for a little while?” you suggest. She immediately nods.

“Sure.”

You end up staying up a little later than you probably should’ve, but it’s better than lying awake with anxiety, alone. And, surprisingly enough, you actually get to sleep fairly fast when she leaves. It’s scary, all of it is, and you _are_ scared, but…

You have Chara by your side. And you’re surrounded by people who care about you.

So, at least for right now…

You’re not all that worried. Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope i can update soon i have a lot better of an idea of where i want to go with this now aahhh  
> kind of unsatisfied with this chapter still but i've been messing with it for a while so i think this is the best i'm gonna get it rn. maybe i'll come back to it later  
> see you guys soon!! hopefully


	22. Ammunition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iM FUCKING BACK!!  
> so. i think this deserves an explanation. feel free to skip though and continue on to the chapter if you don't want to hear emotional ranting though, lmao. basically, a close relative of mine passed away recently from cancer. because of this, i was in and out of hospitals visiting them beforehand, and that was already emotionally taxing, especially adding onto everything else in my life that's been going on. it was really sudden, and on top of the grief, there's a lot to deal with in terms of selling their house, taking care of their pets, etc. i'm so sorry about the hold up!! it's not that i haven't wanted to work on this, but more like i just... couldn't. i've just been so emotionally exhausted and drained lately. but i'm so happy that i managed to write this!! if it sounds a little off, that's why. i'll may come back and change some things later, too. i'm really excited to be getting back in the swing of things, though, and i hope i can continue to deliver. thank you all so much for sticking with me. it means a lot.  
> also, i finally decided on a name for this au!! it'll make more sense as the story continues.
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in frisk's pov.

You forgot how hard it is to get up before the sun has risen.

After waking up, you lay in bed for at least five minutes, contemplating whether you _actually_ want to get up or if you just want to go back to sleep and then make up some excuse later.

You know you can’t do that, though, and you won’t let Chara go alone, so you force yourself up and begin to get ready.

You feel more awake after showering and somewhat getting yourself together, but you’re still sort of terrified.

There’s a soft knocking on your door, and when you turn around, Chara’s standing in the doorway, giving you a small smile when you make eye contact.

“Good morning,” she says, entering when you gesture for her to, “how are you holding up?”

“I’m making it,” you tell her, tidying up your dresser a bit before turning to her. “How about you? I know you’re not crazy about this either.”

“I’ll make it,” she nods, reiterating your words, and you smile at her. You know this is really hard for her as well, maybe even more so than for yourself. She’s really trying.

“Well, we should probably get going,” she heads towards the door, “are you ready?”

“Yeah.” You grab your stuff that you arranged for yourself last night, which is pretty much just a bag with a limited amount of school supplies that Toriel got. It’ll probably be fine though, considering you’re both being “privately taught”, however that’s going to work. “Bye, Flowey!”

If he hears you, he doesn’t make any indication of it, and you’re slightly wary of leaving him alone here by himself for the whole day, but you offered to take him with you and he cursed you out. Chara told you she had given him a “talk” and that he “wouldn’t get into any trouble if he didn’t want to be uprooted”, which, in itself was a little disconcerting (“You wouldn’t do that, Chara.” “ _Ha ha—_ try me.”), but you know Chara has a way of getting people to listen to her. Or, maybe more accurately, _scaring_ them into listening to her, but it’s effective either way (even if it’s not _morally correct_ ).

When you enter the kitchen, you’re met with Sans, leaning up against the counter in nicer than normal clothing. He looks… good.

“You’re coming with us?” you ask him.

“yup. teachin’ at the school, remember?”

Right. How could you forget about that? You’re just a little more motivated to get through this day now.

“You actually look decent today, comedian,” Chara comments from beside you, crossing her arms with a small smirk. “I wonder how long you’ll be able to keep this job?”

“Um—how exactly are we going to get there?” you ask before the conversation can escalate into an argument, determined to not let them fight.

“i’m taking you,” Sans answers, straightening up and taking a few steps towards the both of you. “don’t worry, though,” he winks, and _here we go_ , “i know a shortcut.”

Chara visibly stiffens beside you. “Don’t you _dare—!_ ”

Sans takes a hold of your wrist and you quickly grab Chara and latch onto her arm before she can finish. Your vision goes dark for a moment, but when it clears up again you’re on a campus in front of a large building, standing the middle of a clearing. There’s people around you…

You stumble backwards a bit, but feel Chara steady you, and look behind you to see her glaring at Sans. She seems a bit off-put and unsteady herself, but holds onto you tightly and seems to try and hide it. “Seriously? Why couldn’t we have just _driven_ like _normal people?_ ”

He shrugs. “where would be the fun in that?”

She looks down at you to make sure you’re okay, her glare softening, and then upon releasing you and you getting steady on your feet again. She sighs irritatedly, taking a few steps away from Sans and gently pulling you beside her.

“Are you Frisk Dreemurr?”

You all turn to see a young girl who looks to be around your age standing a few feet away, beginning to approach you when she confirms your identity herself. Since she was fairly far away, she said your name pretty loud, and successfully gains the attention of a number of other students, who also begin to walk over to three of you, forming a small crowd. You’re suddenly feeling a little claustrophobic. You quickly find and take hold of Chara’s hand, holding her close to you, and offer a reassuring squeeze. She squeezes back, and then you turn to face everyone.

“Yes, I’m Frisk. The Ambassador,” you answer the girl’s original question, and address the general group that grows by the second, “I’m very happy to be here to meet all of you.”

“You’re really Frisk?” you hear someone say, followed by, “you’re so cool! You’re pretty much a celebrity.”

“Everyone’s been wanting to meet you,” the initial girl tells you, “you’re adored here.”

“Is it true that you’re only sixteen?” someone else asks, the voice seeming to belong to another girl.

“Um, yes—”

“Do you really have monster parents?” comes another question, and everyone starts to talk over each other, and you start to lose track of who’s asking what.

“Who are your real parents?”

“Why don’t you live with them?”

“Why are you going to school _here_?”

“Isn’t it hard being an ambassador when you’re so young?”

“How did you fall?”

“Why did you climb the mountain?”

“What classes are you in?”

“Did you really fight a king?”

“Your hair is so nice. What shampoo do you use?”

You’re overwhelmed with all the attention, and they’re all asking you stuff too fast for you to even think about the answers for any of the questions.

“hey, hey,” Sans says from behind you, stepping beside you and putting a hand on your shoulder almost protectively, “there’s enough of our little ambassador here to go around.”

“You’re… Sans, right?” another girl asks, somehow knowing Sans’s name. He seems to be a little uncomfortable with this development, but nods.

“one and only.” He begins to say something else, probably a pun, you think, knowing him, but then another person adds to the crowd, and asks,

“Are you two, like, a thing?”

She gestures to you and Sans, and you feel Chara’s grip on your hand tightening. Your face heats up considerably, and you momentarily picture yourself with Sans but quickly shake the thought out of your head, trying to answer and set things straight, “U-Um, that’s not—” but you’re cut off.

“What about you?” another starts before you get the chance to fully answer the previous question, “you’re… Chara, right? Are you Frisk’s sister?

Chara just looks at the girl who asked the question, not seeming to know what to say. That’s understandable. You two still haven’t really come up with a cover story to cover things like what everyone here is asking. But, to be fair, you didn’t expect to be interrogated as soon as you set foot onto the property.

“You’re both so pretty,” someone else compliments you and Chara, and while you manage to stutter out a thank you, you can tell Chara’s quota for being questioned is about up. While you do love the positive attention—you have to admit, it feels nice, to be treated this way; even if you think you really don’t deserve it—it’s also very overwhelming to you, and you hate this sort of attention at the same time. You glance around, trying to find some way to escape, but, luckily, someone else comes to your rescue.

“Alright, I think that’s enough.” A man, dressed just about as nicely as Sans today, cuts into the crowd easily with his towering stature. A teacher, definitely, but you don’t know whether he’s just a staff member or if he’s someone like the principal. He could pass as either. “All of you, get to class. The Dreemurrs will be here all year. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know them.”

Some of the students need a bit more encouragement, but he manages to disperse the crowd fairly quickly, to which you’re thankful for. Some of them call after you (“nice meeting you!” “sit with us during lunch?” “see you around!” “can you talk after fourth period?”), and some linger around, probably listening to the conversation, but it finally feels like you can breathe now. You relax considerably.

“Frisk Dreemurr,” the man addresses you, and you use your free hand to grasp and shake his extended hand. His handshake is firm, and you try to return the force, but you know you’re far less strong than him. “I am your principal. It’s a pleasure to meet such an amazing young girl.”

“It’s… a pleasure meeting you too,” you manage, albeit a bit shy. He goes to shake Chara’s hand, and she reluctantly does so, taking a step forward and seeming to try to dominate the handshake, and you stifle your laughter. You can tell she’s not impressed by this at all.

“Chara,” he nods to her, and then pulls away. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

She doesn’t reply, and you nudge her gently, playfully, and she nudges you back, stepping close to you again.

“Sans.” He only gives him a nod. It seems they’ve met before. Which would make sense, if Sans is going to be teaching here.

You’re still not sure as to how that’s going to work. You don’t really think this school is one of the “mixed” ones, but then again, they’re not _against_ monsters and pro-monster rights. Obviously. After all, they offered to enroll you and Chara here. But Sans is the only monster here, as far as you’ve seen. You guess that it’s fine, that it’ll work out either way but… it just seems unusual.

“I apologize about the crowding. I talked to them about it, but the students are very excitable. They have been looking forward to meeting the both of you,” he says to you and Chara, and you find yourself sort of liking this guy. He seems easy going and nice enough, and you think you’ll get along nicely with him. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you two to where you’ll be having most of your classes.”

The school is really nice, and you notice it especially when you walk inside. Everything is so _clean_ and tidy and it all looks very expensive… you realize it may not be all that great, and that you’re just so impressed because it’s the first school you’ve been in that wasn’t poor and on the bad side of town, but still feel both very honored to have this type of opportunity as well as quite out of place in such a nice establishment as this.

There are many more students on the inside than there were outside, and you get plenty of looks and even some trying to come up to you, but after getting a look from the principal backing off. You get the sense that he’s one of those people who’s widely liked and generally relaxed and calm, but everyone knows not to mess with. Sort of like Sans, maybe. That could be why you find yourself with a fairly high opinion of him; because he reminds you of Sans.

Occasionally he’ll make a comment about a certain room or area, but you’re not really listening. You feel far too self conscious and hyper aware of your surroundings, like someone could be here wanting to hurt you. You don’t really think that though, and you wonder if you’re picking up on Chara.

You glance at her at that thought, and find her looking extremely guarded, glancing around the both of you nervously and keeping her hand near her waist, probably to pull out of knife if needed. You hate seeing her so scared.

“Chara,” you whisper, waiting until she turns her attention to you, “we’re safe. No one here wants to hurt us.”

She relaxes ever so slightly when you say that, but you can tell she doesn’t entirely believe it. And maybe it’s not completely correct; there are people here who very well may be against what you both stand for and _may_ want to do harm to you, but… You’re sure it’s a low percentage, at least; the people who would actually try to hurt either of you. You walk closer to her so that your shoulder brushes against hers as you walk, trying to ease her worry a bit. You know it won’t help her all that much, but it’s something.

You’re led to a rather spacious classroom, much bigger from the ones you’re used to, and you once again think about how much nicer this school is than the one you used to attend before you fell.

You’re told that a teacher will be coming to talk to the both of you soon, about how you’re going to approach your education, and tells you to stay put. The principal then leaves, and as soon as he’s out of the room, Chara says, “...I don’t like him.”

You look at her. “Why?”

She takes a moment to think about him, and then says, “He’s far too nice to us.”

A part of you wonders if it’s also because he reminds her of Sans as well, but you don’t say anything about it.

You wish you knew how to help Chara learn to trust other people (namely humans) since, at some point, she’s probably going to have to, and it would make going to school a lot easier for her, probably. But you know she was treated terribly by people, and asking her to trust them is selfish and would be inconsiderate on your part.

“i should probably be getting to my class,” Sans says, and you turn your attention back to him. “have fun, you two. don’t work yourseleves _down to the bone_ , though.”

Chara scoffs, and you quickly run over to him before he can leave. “Wait! Hold on a sec.” He stops, and you can feel heat rising to your cheeks as you reach out and unbutton the first two buttons of his shirt, smoothing out his collar.

“T-There,” you say, stepping back. You think it suits him better, that way. “You were too buttoned up. This way, people will relax around you a bit more.”

His eyelights search your face for a moment, and then he gives you a light chuckle. “alright, kid.”

“Oh, and what classroom are you teaching in?” you ask, wanting to be able to know where he is, just in case something happens. And also to visit him, but more importantly to be able to get to him.

He gives you the room number, and you find a spare pen that was in a cup on whoever’s desk this room belongs to and use it to write it down on your hand.

“Okay.” You put the pen back and nod to him. “You’re going to do great. I know you will.”

And, right now, he looks genuinely happy. “thanks, sweetheart.”  
You do that thing where neither of you say anything and you’re just kind of looking at each other contentedly, and you’d honestly be happy doing that for the rest of eternity, but Chara interrupts.

“Good _bye_ Sans!” she says impatiently walking over to probably push him out the door but he begins walking before she can.

“alright, alright,” he looks back at you, “see ya, kid.”

You watch him round the corner and then turn back to Chara, leaning up against the wall as she takes a seat on top of one of the spare tables. Although watching her and Sans is mildly entertaining, you would rather if they could just get along.

That reminds you, though…

“Last night,” you begin, pushing yourself up and taking the seat in front of the desk Chara’s sitting on, “when you were talking about Sans, you said… that he had hurt us, that he had killed us many times.”

Chara’s face pales slightly, and you’re starting to get concerned. This may not be the best time to bring something like this up, but you don’t want to forget. You go on, although your voice is a bit softer now. “We both know there are other timelines where… I wasn’t the best person. Ones where Sans did hurt us.” You pause for a moment, and Chara nods for you to continue. “I’ve only seen fragments of them in my dreams. But, Chara… just how much do _you_ remember?”

She takes a deep breath. Then sighs. You don’t think that’s a very good sign.

“Not much,” she says after a decent amount of time. “Sometimes, when you have your nightmares, and I’m asleep as well… I think I see parts of them. A lot of times I don’t remember.” Your heart sinks. You didn’t know… “I don’t remember a lot. Neither do you, I don’t think. But sometimes, when you mention a certain person or a certain event, like you did with the comedian last night, it… I can recall certain moments. I don’t have any context for them, and I don’t know how long ago they were, but I just get… flashes of memories.”

She seems unsure, like she doesn’t really know how to describe it, but you know _exactly_ what she means. Because you get it too. Normally, it’s more of a weird feeling, or… vibe, you guess (“ _I’ve done this before”_ ), but that’s happened to you, too. You remember meeting Sans for the first time, and wondering why he was so felt so familiar to you. You remember the first thing you thought was _I remember you._ It didn’t make much sense at the time, and you dismissed it, but now…

You remember being strangely accustomed to having someone else’s voice in your head, as well. The feeling of her talking in your head was strangely familiar. So was her pseudo-touch, and although her momentarily taking control of your body was entirely foreign (it still is; you don’t think you’ll ever get used to it) you were… oddly okay with it.

“I don’t really know what it was, but… when we were talking about Sans last night, _I remembered him hurting us_. Killing us, _doing_ _things_ to us, I…”

She trails off, glancing behind you, and you realize why she stopped when you look as well.

“Oh, I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” a woman stands in the doorway, dressed in a blouse and a pencil skirt. She must the the teacher the principal had mentioned.

“No, you’re fine…” you tell her without really thinking about it, your mind still occupied with what Chara had told you.

The teacher walks in and introduces herself to you before sitting down and laying out a dozen different materials while explaining that you’ll both have to be tested a fair amount to see what levels you’re at on certain subjects and how they have classes online as well for the both of you. You glance at Chara to try to tell her that you’d continue the conversation later, as you don’t think you’ll have time to talk anytime soon. She nods, getting the message without saying anything, and even though you don’t really use your minds to communicate anymore (you still have your connection, of course, and you probably could if you really wanted to, but neither of you want to break carefully maintained barrier), you think you’re both pretty good at reading each other. The fact that you can just give her a look and she can know exactly what you mean, that you can take one look at each other and immediately tell how you’re both feeling… you love it. You love your closeness and your relationship with her.

This time, while you’re both conversering with the teacher, she’s the one who slips her hand into yours. M

###  _Chapter Twenty-Two: Ammunition_

By the time that the lunch break rolls around, you’re pretty tired.

The woman who was with you announced that you were excused to go get something to eat, and that she’d be back after lunch had ended. You lay your head down on the table, sleep seeming a lot more desirable than food right now.

“Honestly, I think I’ll just stay here,” you murmur into your arms. You feel Chara’s hand on your back.

“Come on,” she encourages, tugging on you gently, “you’ll feel better once you eat.”

“But I’m _tired_ ,” you complain, turning your head to look at her. You’re honestly just being difficult. You suddenly get an idea and smile at her.  “...Carry me?”

“...Alright.”

She moves to pick you up, and you sit up, waving your hands, “Wait! I was joking! You don’t have to do that.”

Although it does sound kind of fun, you’re not going to make her carry you just because.

She doesn’t really appear to care though, moreover seeming amused. “I will, though, if you want me to.”

“I want…” you begin, looking her up and down before springing up, throwing your arms around her waist, “a hug!”

She makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a hum before hugging you back. She’s warm and comfortable and honestly you feel like just taking a nap right here and right now.

You eventually reluctantly pull back. “Better?” Chara asks you as soon as you do.

“Better,” you agree, and then grab her sleeve and begin leading her out of the classroom. You want to go find Sans and check in on him, but you don’t know how much Chara would like that, but you also don’t want to leave her alone…

“...You want to go see Sans, don’t you?”

You slow a bit. Despite what she told you, even though you believe her, you don’t think he’s a bad person. He hasn’t done anything bad to either of you this time around. “...Um, yeah. Sorry… we don’t really have to—”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just… wait outside,” she decides, and you feel bad about it, but you really do want to ask him about if he made any progress with your sister. Which, is something that Chara doesn’t know about…

You both venture upstairs and you almost get both of you lost, but Chara manages to find the right room. You thank her and step inside, met with an empty room. No one in sight.

Sans probably went to the cafeteria. Of course. Why did you come here?

“looking for something?”

You jolt and turn around, finding him behind you, walking past you once you notice him and setting something on his desk. You swear…

“ _You,_ ” you say, heading over to his desk. “How did teaching go?”

“good,” he replies, and it sounds genuine enough. You assume he may have had a few issues, but that would be expected.

“That’s good.” You notice his collar is still unbuttoned. It makes you smile a little. “I’m sure they all liked you.

“Are you not going to lunch?” you ask. You want to know whether or not to wait to bring up your sister.

“nah, if i ate anything it’d just _go right through me_.” You cross your arms but still giggle a little. “what about you?”

“I don’t think so…” You weren’t really planning on it, you aren’t hungry and you still feel weird about eating school-provided food especially. But maybe if Chara wants something you’ll go. You don’t know if she will, though. “I was actually going to ask you…”

“mm?”

“...Did you learn anything about my sister? I don’t mean to annoy you or anything, but…” he shakes his head, walking over to his desk and shuffling through a couple of papers.

“no, no, if i were you i’d be wantin’ to know too.” He hands you a piece of paper that, at first glance, seems to be a short article. “there really wasn’t much that i could get my hands on, considering she didn’t sign her name. ‘s almost like she didn’t _want_ you to find her.” You curiously scan over the paper, having noticed that too. You suppose there’s a chance you could get information on her using your last name, but then again, that would really only take you so far…

 _Ambassador Frisk Dreemurr’s sister has been identified,_ the first line of the article reads, and honestly, you don’t really like where this is going already. It explains that because she’s a minor, her name won’t be released to the public, which makes sense, but it’s strange to you that she’s trying to contact you and doesn’t sign her name or any means of letting you reach out back to her on a personal letter that she sent to _you,_ and not the public. Was she afraid of the media somehow getting their hands on it?

Apparently, her grade had been given an assignment to write about the people in their lives who they viewed as their heroes. And that’s when she wrote about you. Her teacher had urged her to actually write the letter and send it, considering, well, everything, and that’s how it came about. That’s cute. It warms your heart to think someone would think so highly of you. And, if anything, this article just proves that there’s _someone_ who exists claiming to be your sister. Whether she actually is or not is another story, but at least you know she exists.

Other than that, there doesn’t seem to be anything else that could be useful to you.

But the last line is what really catches your attention.

_We are one step closer to piecing together Miss Dreemurr’s life before her fall._

You grip the paper a bit harder. This is… a thing? People are actively going around searching for information about the person you used to be? Not to mention, trying to publish it _for the whole world to see_?

 _This is bad._ Who knows what people could dig up. It may be irrational to even worry, a lot of the stuff you’re thinking of happened _so long_ ago, and it really only concerned you, _no one else should even know about it,_ you _specifically_ made sure to keep everything under wraps, you only told _one person,_ and they _aren’t even here anymore—_

“hey,” Sans’s voice snaps you out of it, “you okay there, kid?”

Slowly, you lower the paper from your face, handing it to him. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Everything’s fine. Nothing has come out so far, at least, right? You would’ve been aware of it…

You feel the urge to suddenly scope through every page online about yourself, even though you’re pretty sure nothing significant has been found yet. Could it really be possible for people to find the life that you want to forget? Everything you had so carefully hidden away?

Sans looks skeptical of your claim, and you can’t blame him, with his scarily accurate perceptiveness he’s probably picking up a million different vibes from you. You’re not sure really what to say, though. He wouldn’t understand.

_Not unless you told him…_

“Sans,” you begin, not sure how to even go about this, “I don’t want—”

“Miss Dreemurr?”

You stop, turning around to see to girls standing in the doorway, seeming to be about your age. Students, definitely.

“Sorry to bother you,” one says, bowing her head to you a little, “we were just wondering if we could talk to you for a bit?”

“Or, if you’re free… could you eat lunch with us?”

You see Chara appear in the door frame behind them, mouthing something along the lines of an apology (she probably tried to get them to go elsewhere) and you hope it didn’t cause her too much trouble to have to try to deal with them on her own. You just really can’t catch a break around here. You don’t know why you expected to be able to get anything worthwhile done without frequent interruptions.

You glance back at Sans, and he nods to you, as if simultaneous signaling to you that it’s okay for you to go.

Well, it’s not like you could really decline, anyway. You turn to them.

“Okay,” you agree, albeit a bit reluctantly, and the girls both smile before telling you to follow them. Honestly, something like this could be fun, but after what you just heard with Sans, you’re just not really in the mood for it.

You look back at him once more, giving him a small wave somewhat apologetically to which he returns. You’d think he may understand; being a literal skeleton in a school full of humans has probably brought him many questions and attention much like you’ve been receiving. While it is nice, to an extent—having people care so much about you, and want to befriend you—you really hope this doesn’t go on all year.

As you walk out, you try and think of the questions they may ask and prepare answers ahead of time, as there are things you know you can’t and shouldn’t mention. But, unfortunately, as much as you try to keep your thoughts on track and forget about earlier for the moment…

You can’t stop yourself from worrying about what people may find about who you used to be.

  
  
  


 

You collapse onto the nearest chair as soon as you get home, setting your stuff down carelessly beside you onto the floor. You’re exhausted, both mentally and physically.

You know you’re going to have to get used to people firing questions at you much like (and probably even more extreme) those girls did when you sat with them. In hindsight, that’s probably the easiest it’ll be. But it still was pretty tiring. You guess it went fine overall, but the whole time you were worrying, stressing over how you worded everything. You wish it could’ve been fun, or you could at least feel normal; you don’t want every conversation you have with the people at your school to be like that. But then again, with the friends you already have, do you _really_ feel the need to seriously befriend any of the kids at the high school?

Either way, between that and—while it was irrational—feeling as though at some point someone was going to run up to the table and accuse you of something you did in your past surface life, you’re kinda worn out. Not to mention all the testing you had to do…

“At least put your bag up,” you hear Chara say as she enters the room, gently shaking the book bag out of your hands.

“Thank you...” you murmur, moving to glance up at her. You decide you don’t want her to do that, though. “Wait, no. Lay with me.”

She gives you a look, seeming to understand that you’re not going to let her go easily and puts both yours and her own bag onto the table in front of you. The both of you are alone in the house, for now; mom had managed to get a friend of hers to pick the both of you up and drop you off at home, since Sans had to stay to finish work and probably other teacher-y things that you don’t know about. He may come later, he may not, depending on if he gets whatever needs to be done done or not. You’re glad he took the profession; you think it suits him. You really think he’ll enjoy it.

After seeing Chara give in, you gently pull her down with you. She stumbles a bit, not seeming to expect that, and you reach up and wrap your arms around her shoulders, steadying her weight on top of you, and successfully bring her on the couch with you.

She pushes herself up after a moment, glaring at you lightly before rolling her eyes when you smile good naturedly at her.

“Come on,” you nudge her, “you’re tired too, aren’t you? Just stay with me like this for a little while.”

She seems to contemplate it, but you’re pretty sure it’s fake. You think you notice a light shade of pink on her cheeks, but you can’t tell whether that’s just her natural color or not. “...Alright,” she agrees after a moment, and then shifts on top of you, probably try to situate herself, but then you feel her mouth on your ear and you freeze.

You can practically _see_ the amused mirth on her face when she blows warm air into your ear and you gasp and jolt a little at the strange sensation, trying to push her away. She laughs, pulling back a bit and allowing you to see her face. You were right; she watches you with an entertained smirk, to which you narrow your eyes at, but barely have time to lightly hit her as she quickly returns her position. You immediately try to move away from her, beginning to say some half-hearted plea for her to stop, it felt weird, but you’re cut off when you when instead of blowing into your ear again, you feel… a wetness?

You quickly realize that that’s her tongue, and your embarrassment only grows when you feel her lick up your neck, followed by a the graze of her teeth on the outer shell of your ear, and, with a very refined squeal you manage to succeed in pushing her away, using your other hand to push yourself up a bit onto the armrest of the couch to support your back.

“ _Chara!_ ” you practically shout her name, partially covering your face with your hand. She simply snickers at you, messing up your hair.

“What? You told me to lay with you,” she leans down a bit further, _closer_ , _inches from your face,_ and you will yourself not to back away. After all, you don’t have anywhere else to go, the hardness of the couch is digging into your back already.

“Y-Yeah, I did, I didn’t tell you to _lick me_ and _bite my ear_ ,” is your defense, and she inclines her head to right slightly, dropping her weight down further onto you, and it’s now that you become aware of the position of her legs; you must have tangled the both of yours when you pulled her down on top of you. You can only really feel it now that she’s moving and _pressing_ against you.

“Hm? You didn’t like it?” Impossibly, she leans closer, and you swallow hard, trying to stay still and not squirm underneath her. It was a new sensation, weird definitely… but it didn’t feel _bad,_ you _guess_. “There are other things I can do… _that_ _I promise you’ll like._ ”

You stiffen a bit at the sudden change of her voice, your breath hitching when you feel her legs shift against your own, her fingers brushing across your jaw and raising your face slightly. You’re not sure what you’re expecting, but you find yourself closing your eyes when she continues to lean to you, reaching for the back of her neck.

You can feel her breath on your face, and a few strands of her hair dangling down ever so slightly touching your skin. You wait.

...Nothing. Nothing happens.

Your eyes flutter open again, and you find her simply looking at you, in the same position as before, a bit closer. And, she must’ve not been expecting you to open your eyes so soon, because you catch a rare, soft look in her eyes that you know she wouldn’t let you see normally. To you, it really seems a lot like…

 _Longing._ And as her gaze flickers over your face, it’s a lot like she’s trying to figure something out. Figure something out about you.

Before you can even try to think about what that _something_ may be, she appears to register that you’re looking back at her, and she pulls back, the unusual expression gone.

“...I was just teasing,” she murmurs, but the rather monotone voice she uses says otherwise. She sounds distant, distracted. What’s she thinking about?

Then, in a more fitting tone, “What were you expecting?”

...You don’t know.

But somehow, at the same time, you feel like you do; this has happened one too many times between the two of you, and it always ends the same.

What is it about you and Chara?

“...You tease too much,” ends up being your muttered reply, because you’re not sure what else to say. You’re not sure what else to do.

You think she has something else to say, but before she can even open her mouth, you both hear yelling from the other room—“Would you two _cut it out already_ ? I’m not even in the same room and I can _still_ hear you both with your stupid, mushy bullshit.”

You both pause for a moment, exchanging brief glances, and then you start laughing. You’re home alone… except Flowey. You almost forgot. Chara follows, and after calling out a half-hearted apology back, she gets up, helping you up as well.

“Thanks,” you say, glancing around the two of you. There’s still quite a while until Toriel is supposed to get home, and neither of you really have any work to do to tonight, so… “How are you feeling?”She looks slightly confused, so you clarify, “I mean, after school and everything.”

There’s a moment where she’s quiet, and you really hope she it wasn’t _that_ bad for her. You thought it probably went alright—nothing really bad happened like a part of you was expecting. It could’ve been much worse. If anything, it was just really tiring. You hoped it didn’t ware Chara down as much as it might’ve…

She turns, walking into the kitchen motioning you quickly follow her. “I’m alright,” she decides, beginning to pour herself a drink, glancing up at you silently as if to ask you if you want anything, but you shake your head. “I’m a little tired in terms of emotion, but it went much better than it could’ve been. Of course, being in such a setting felt fairly unnerving, considering...” she gives you a look, and you understand exactly what she means, “but… you were there. And… it was alright.”

She’s not looking at you anymore, but there’s a gratitude in her voice, a thankfulness for _you_ in her eyes, and it makes something in you so _happy._ “It was quite tiring, yes, but… with you here, I’ll be fine.”

It’s a little while before she continues, but you’re still caught up in her gratefulness for you, and you don’t pay any attention. “Besides, with all the events you have coming up, I don’t really think we’ll be there all that much. Thank you for worrying about me.”

She smiles, and you suddenly find your nails incredibly interesting. “Of course, Chara…”

“I trust it was similar for you, or else you’d be telling me, right?” There’s a little edge to her voice as she says that, and you can tell she’s referring to how you how you don’t often share when you have problems, and you feel a bit guilty, but you feel no need to lie this time, or to downplay how you’re really feeling.

“It was. But, as long as someone as amazing is you is by my side…” you return the smile, “I know I’ll be fine.”

Now, it’s her turn to be embarrassed. Your smile turns smug as you lean forward a little. “Thought you could out-flirt me, didn’t you?”

Although you weren’t really flirting this time, as you were just telling the truth, it still gets the same reaction out of her as if you were, and you think she knows that. She glowers at you, reaching for you but you quickly duck away from her grasp.

“I don’t know, you were singing _quite_ a different tune on the couch just a moment ago.” She manages to pin you against the counter when you realize far too late that she’s cornered you into it. “Shall we continue from there, then?”

“C-Come on, I was just kidding— _Charaaaa!_ Quit it! _”_

* * *

When the door opens, you’re downstairs in the kitchen, searching for an extra bottle of conditioner that you apparently have, according to Frisk, who had run out in the midst of taking a shower. If you’re being honest with yourself, it was kind of hard not to walk in there when she called your name, and you think your self control is waning, which is something you _really can’t afford_. It’s just… when she pulled you on top of her on the couch like that… when you ended up in that position with her, your legs tangled in hers, her body splayed out underneath yours, the way she looked at you with vulnerability in her eyes… It kind of felt like…

 _She was yours_. Like she could be yours. Like, maybe, she could…

You stop your train of thought there, turning your attention to door. The sound almost almost startles you, as it is pretty late, but Toriel had told you that she would probably be back later than normal, as she had some things to take care of.

What catches you off guard is when you see the comedian walking in after her.

You narrow your eyes, stopping your trek towards her as soon as you spot him. What reason is there for him to be here?

You suppose there may be none, that he just came because it happened to be convenient somehow—after all, as much as you may hate it, mom and Sans _are_ friends and close ones at that—but then, you notice that she’s… shaking slightly? Sans looks… concerned, too, a hand not-quite touching her back as he lets her inside first. (Gross.)

For now, you push your personal qualms with the obnoxious skeleton to the back of your mind, approaching her again and ushering her away from him. “Mother, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” you ask, taking her arms into your own and leading her closer to you. Something must’ve happened, and that’s why the comedian is with her. But… what?

You look over her for any kind of injuries, even though you know with her boss monster status she’s probably quite alright and could handle some wounds, but you’re concerned nonetheless. She stops you, shaking her head slowly. “No, my child. I am unharmed.”

You slowly let up, dropping your arms back at your sides. “Then… what is it?”

“I…”

“tori got into a few… arguments at her new school,” Sans answers for her, clasping what seems like a gentle hand on her shoulder, but to you, it feels more imposing. She could answer for herself. She seemed like she was having trouble articulating whatever had happened, but he didn’t need to completely take over her answer. “nothin’ big. ‘s to be expected with something like this. but they just weren’t very pleasant.”

You look to your mother, searching her face to see any signs that Sans may be lying. You don’t like the way he went about saying that. “Yes, it has certainly been quite a stressful day.”

But you can’t find any.

“I will be alright,” she assures you warmly, which, does comfort you, you guess. “Sans and I simply need to discuss a few things. There are certain matters that need to be worked out.”

Then, she sets her bag down, and Sans follows her to the other side of the counter. You watch them, unamused, wondering or not if that was the truth. It sounds plausible; of course there would be some disagreements here and there with a monster working at a both monster and human school, especially with the state of monsters and humans currently; everything is still being worked out, and everyone is still getting used to each other. Old ideas and misconceptions still haven’t quite vanished. Humans haven’t quite grasped the whole “living peacefully with monsters” thing yet. But even if that is the truth, it’s not very specific. Just what kinds of “arguments” occurred for mom to be so shaken up…?

“Chara, where’d you go? I was looking for—...”  

You turn to see Frisk behind you, her hair still slightly wet but wrung out. Right. You forgot about the conditioner. She looks from you to mom to Sans. She stiffens, instantly seeming more nervous now that she’s aware of his presence. You hate it.

“Sans…? Why are you here?” she asks, stepping beside you. There’s a short period where no one says anything, which prompts her to continue, “did something happen?”

“no,” Sans is the one who answers, _of course,_ “not really. just stoppin’ by to talk to your mom about some _stove,_ ” he points to the stove, winking at Frisk, and you withhold a sigh while he somehow manages to get a small smile out of her with that. “she had some trouble at the school, and there are certain things the two of us need to work out.”

“Certain things” that they “need to work out” again, huh. Because that totally isn’t conspicuous.

“Oh… o… kay?” She seems confused as does she seem disappointed, probably thinking she’d have some time to talk to Sans. You _almost_ feel bad that she doesn’t. “Have… fun...? I hope everything isn’t too bad…?”

“no, it’s not. don’t worry ‘bout it sweetheart,” he assures her, and you notice how she always seems to blush when he calls her that. It kind of makes you want to punch him a few times in the face. Maybe with a chair.

“We shall catch you both up in the morning,” mom concludes, nodding to the both of you. “I trust that the two you did not have any troubles today, then?”

You and Frisk both look at each other, and then you say, “No, not particularly,” which Frisk seems to agree with.

“That is good. I hope you have a good day tomorrow as well. Remember, if anything does happen, we are both a call away.”

And then, she turns to Sans, and the two of them walk out of the room, heading to mom’s office. You glance at Frisk, whose expression reflects the confusion (and mild concern) that you feel.

“That was…”

“Strange,” you finish, glancing back at the direction the two went. “Something must have happened.”

She seems to ponder something for a moment. “...Do you think we should go listen in on them?”

“I don’t think we can,” you reply, recalling the last time you tried to listen in on mom in the office when she got a phone call and left the room, “the walls of the room are too thick.”

“It must be something important, then, if they went in there to talk about it,” Frisk points out, and she’s probably right. That does seem like something mom would be aware of. You both know how she is. She doesn’t like the two of you knowing about anything she deems inappropriate, which, a lot of times, includes important information that the two of you _should_ know.

You think briefly about trying to get Flowey to go and listen to them, but you’re not sure if that would work either, or if it’d even be worth it—if you somehow managed to convince him, who says that he wouldn’t leave out information that isn’t convenient to him and his goals? It’s not like it’s something he hasn’t done a million times before. He’s not really a trustworthy source.

“Well, mom said she would catch us up…” you give a small shrug of your shoulders. “Maybe she will. Let’s wait and see.”

Frisk hums in agreement, and with that settled, you assure her that you’ll figure it out, and if she needs anything or dreams again you’re just across the hall. And then you both part ways to your rooms, yourself a bit reluctantly. It’s not like you’re not tired or anything, but…

You sigh and fall onto your bed. Another day has gone by where you and Frisk have remained the same…

You don’t really know what you’re expecting. Of course, nothing is going to magically make her fall in love with you and confess. But it’s like even when you try and drop hints, it’s to no avail. And you know you’ve promised to yourself that you won’t try actually tell her flat out until you know how she feels, but it’s just…

It hurts. It’s hard to keep going like this. You don’t want to keep going like this.

You pull your blankets up over yourself and over your head. You don’t want to think about it anymore. You really just hope Frisk doesn’t dream again tonight. You really wish there was something else you could do for her, something to stop the dreams—the _nightmares,_ the _memories_ —but…

You’ll have to figure something out.

For everything.

* * *

The next morning, you wake up mid afternoon. You were pretty tired from the events of the previous day.

Toriel thought it would be a good idea for the both of you to start school at the end of the week, and, seemingly, so did the school. Whether or not they went along with it after Toriel suggested it and persuaded them or if they were on board from the beginning, you don’t know. She explained to you that it would be better to introduce the both of you to a school environment slowly; it would be easier for people to get used to you that way, and safer.

Today isn’t a free day, thought. Today, you have a meeting with a senator. Dinner, to be specific.

It was one of the dates earlier planned with you by Asgore, but you almost forget about it with everything going on. It isn’t until later of the night of your first day of school that you remember.

But, fortunately, it’s not really something you need to prepare for substantially beforehand. It’s slightly more informal, it appears, although from what you’ve heard, you think you’re going to be trying to work out some things and set up stuff to make it easier and safer for everyone. You know you have more meetings in the near future, and those that are more important, but you’ll have to check the calendar to remind yourself of when they are. Especially because you _do_ have to prepare for some of them beforehand.

You spend a lot of your time with Chara (like usual), and at one point manage to get her to let you borrow her phone to look up things about yourself and you sister, but you find nothing new or alarming. But when the two of you pass by the kitchen you come across Toriel, who’s finishing up dinner, and… Sans. Which, prompts you to ask if he spent the night (which would be surprising, considering you haven’t seen a sign of him the whole day), but, he shakes his head no, and that’s somehow a bit of a relief to you. He had just come by for the meeting, apparently.

“thought i’d offer some moral support,” he tells you jokingly. Although, you honestly think you may need it. This is your first time meeting with someone in a high position of power one-on-one. And your nerves are definitely beginning to get to you.

“Do not worry too much, child,” Toriel assures you gently as she sets the table, “you will not be integrated or something of that sort. It is simply a meeting centered around Monster Civil Rights, and any other topics you are concerned about that you would like to discuss.”

You take a deep breath. “Yeah, it’ll be fine. This will do a lot of good, I’m sure.”

It definitely will, that is, if you can pull this off correctly.

Sans grins at you. “that’s the spirit, kiddo.”

You smile at them, excusing yourself and quickly shuffling over to the bathroom to check yourself over in the mirror. You comb out your messy hair a bit, trying to settle it down as much as possible, and straighten out your clothing. You glance over yourself once more, thinking you’re as satisfied as you’re going to get, and as you begin to head out, you hear the distant ring of doorbell and Toriel calling your name. Well, looks like you’re just on time anyway.

You watch as a polished, nicely dressed man enters, reaching out to shake Toriel’s hand. You think you can see a hint of surprise in his face at seeing a monster in real life up close, but you may have just imagined it. Chara appears beside you, glancing at you briefly. You flash a smile at her, before turning back again, observing Sans as he steps forward to shake hands with the senator as well. For a moment, you think he’s going to pull something (in very Sans nature), but he doesn’t. He simply steps back, apparently leaving it your turn to shake hands with this senator.

Honestly, the whole idea of shaking hands with someone when you meet them is strange to you. It’s kinda weirdly intimate in your opinion; after all, the only other times you hold hands with people in that way is when you’re close with them. You don’t really like it very much, honestly, but you guess it’s something you’re going to have to get used to while you’re in the position that you are. That and public speaking. You still hate public speaking.

...You’re not sure why you’re thinking about all this now. You shake the thoughts away and grasp the senator’s outstretched hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ambassador Frisk,” he addresses you politely (and genuinely), and you can’t help the small smile that makes it way to your face. “Miss Ambassador Frisk”, huh… you think that one’s a first. Your name on its own is quite unusual (Frisk is already a terribly rare name, but then you add Dreemurr and it becomes the first of its kind), which has led to some pretty interesting titles.

You also notice how he grasps your hand with his other free hand. You think that’s a good sign…?

“It’s nice meeting you too,” you nod, pulling back and moving aside to let Chara have a turn.

When Chara steps back, Toriel leads the four of you to the kitchen table. You take a seat next to Chara, the senator sitting across from you, and Toriel and Sans sit on opposite ends. You try to think of what you should say, but thankfully, the senator speaks before you.

“Well, first of all, I would like to thank you all for allowing me to be here and sitting down with me. It is truly an honor,” he begins, looking around the table. “I know that there is a very varied amount of opinions on the rights of monsters, especially in the courts and government. But, I would just like to assure all of you that I am very much on your side, and that I believe monster should have every legal right as a human does.”

You feel a bit relieved hearing this, for some reason. You’re not sure what you were expecting, you don’t know why a senator would request to sit down with you and have dinner with you at your own house if he wasn’t on your side in terms of legal matters and the like, but you guess maybe a part of you was afraid he was here for the wrong reasons? Either way, you’re glad he isn’t. And just hearing something like that from someone in a position of power, to hear that someone who can truly change things is standing behind you… it feels great.

“And, because of that diverse range of beliefs is exactly the reason I wanted to sit down and meet with you, Miss Dreemurr,” he continues, holding eye contact with you, “I want to make sure that there are protections in place for not only monsters, but also you and the rest of your family. I want to make sure that you have plenty of resources, and that you are all safe. I will work with you and do everything in my power to ensure that monsters are granted the same rights as humans.”

You study him in amazement. He’s so… genuine. It’s just…

Maybe you thought that you would never meet another human (much less an _adult_ ) who would be even able to compare to your passion and adamance surrounding monsters and their rights.

You glance at Chara. She seems surprised as well, just like you, but you can see suspicion written all over her features. That’s Chara, though. But you don’t think you need to be suspicious of this man. Maybe it’s just the fact that you want so desperately to believe in someone like him, but… you want to trust him.

You look him straight in the eye.

“Well,” you start, finding yourself looking down at your untouched food, but you can’t find your appetite right now. Instead, it’s replaced by a more determined feeling. “Let’s get started, then.”

And with that declaration, you begin discussing ways that you as an ambassador might forward the progression of monster equality, as well as legal matters, such as laws that need to be passed to protect everyone, and you discuss your own safety. The senator suggests that you solidify your organization that you’re working with, and transfer them to an embassy, and then build that community, which you definitely agree with. You think you’ve heard some talks about a stable embassy being put in place, and hopefully one that’s close to you. Then, the conversation shifts, and you listen as the Kingdom of Monsters begins to be discussed. It’s something you don’t really know that much about.

“But you are a queen yourself?” the senator asks Toriel, and you can see her growing a bit flustered.

“Ah, well…” she seems to ponder it for a moment, but then decides, “yes, I suppose I am.”

You thought she may correct him saying she _was_ a queen, considering… everything that happened, but you guess maybe, for the sake of everyone, she’s going to resume her status?

They talk a little more, Sans chiming in every now and then, but it’s mostly stuff you’ve heard before. Your attention drifts back to Chara, who hasn’t said but a few words the entire time. She’s listening, and seems to just be content doing so, which you understand, but you still reach under the table and find her hand to squeeze it anyway.

A few more minutes pass by, and then the meeting seems to be coming to a close when the senator glances down at his phone. “I hate to cut this short, but unfortunately I have to get back soon,” he explains, but you think everyone at the table understands where he’s coming from.

“No, it’s fine!” you assure him, followed by Toriel. “Thank you for everything.”

After you all express your gratitude towards him, he mentions a few more things to Toriel and Sans, giving them both a collection phone numbers for various people of political positions and the like.

You bid him your goodbyes, once again shaking hands with him. Toriel leads him out, and once you hear the door close, you sit down.

“That went well,” she notes to you. You hum.

“Yeah it did.” You’re somewhat relieved that it’s over, but you have to say, it wasn’t anything really like you were afraid it was going to be.

You turn to Chara, who’s walked over behind you. “What did you think?”

“...He was alright, I suppose,” she says, which, you think is as close as you’ll get to praise from her for another human. You smile gently.

“He seemed genuine, I think,” you declare, to which she doesn’t agree with but doesn’t also deny.

“In any case,” she says instead, “it’ll be good to have someone like him on our side.”

A little bit of a more harsh stance, but you agree with that as well.

You sit in silence for a little while, enjoying the break after being engaged for so long, reaching up and idly messing with Chara’s shirt. She glances down at you, looking mildly irritated, but lets you do it anyway.

But, you’re both interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

You sit up, glancing back at Chara.

“Maybe the senator forgot something?” Chara suggests, and you shrug.

“Maybe.”

You get up to answer the door, followed by Chara, but Toriel rushes back into the room, and you step back and let her answer it. You stand back as door is opened and reveals a young woman, dressed in a blouse and a scarf, holding what appears to be a clipboard with a stack of papers on it.

“Hello, Mrs. Dreemurr,” she addresses Toriel politely with a too-nice-to-be-real tone, “may I come inside?”

* * *

“Hello, Mrs. Dreemurr,” the woman says in a plastic, cheery tone, and you’re already set off by it. She asks to come inside, and then says something else that you don’t quite catch. But whatever it was, it must’ve not been good because everything goes completely silent.

Time almost seems to pause briefly at this moment. Both mom and Frisk go stock still. Frisk is the first one to move, however, looking between the woman and mom, and then glancing back at you before turning back to mumble quietly about needing to go get something that you can barely hear.

Then, she runs the opposite direction.

And now you think you understand what’s happening.

It takes you a moment to process it, but you manage to lean forward and grasp the sleeve of her shirt, forcing her to stall a moment and glance at you.

You lock eyes.

Hers are wide, and behind the pure fear is a bit of surprise, probably that you managed to catch her. You want to tell her to stop, to think about everything for a moment; even though isn’t exactly ideal, especially for your situation… it doesn’t mean she’s going to be taken away. You won’t let them do that. But… she looks so, _so scared. Terrified._ And you know she’s not thinking about that. You know she won’t listen to reason. Honestly, knowing what you know, you can’t blame her. And, in the heat of the moment, you have _no idea_ what you can say to her. You’re honestly tempted to run _with_ her.

Maybe that’s why, when she rips her shoulder away from you and continues her sprint, she manages to get away from you so easily.

* * *

You’re almost out of your backyard before Sans appears in front of you and blocks your way.

You gasp in surprise, taking a small step backwards, but quickly regain your composure.

“hey there, kiddo, what exactly are you doin’ here?” he asks, in that almost scolding tone of his that sounds _so_ _condescending_ , but you really just _don’t want to hear it right now._

“ _Sans,_ ” you desperately grasp at his hoodie to get his full attention. “Please, _please_ —you’ve got to take me away from here. Anywhere else. I don’t care. Your house, maybe?”

You say it all in one breath, and you have to pause to catch it again. He takes this opportunity to speak. “hey, hey. let’s just slow it down for a minute here—”

“I’ll explain _later_ ,” you anxiously glance back to the house, “Sans, they could _take me away,_ just _please_ get me out of here _now._ ” 

You think he knows that this probably isn’t the best idea on his part, but you don’t care, not as long as he gets you away from here _right now._

“...alright,” he gives in with a sigh, promptly putting his arms around you. “hold on tight, sweetheart.”

Your world goes dark, and you stop breathing momentarily, only letting out the breath you had been hold out when light surrounds you again.

You step back, but feel Sans steady you, and you grab at your suddenly aching head. Sans gives you a moment, his hands moving up your arms to your shoulders, holding you steady. When your vision clears, you look around, and realize you’re in an entirely different house. In a bedroom, one that’s fairly messy and littered with clothes and you actually think you see an empty bottle of _something_ in the corner.

Are you in Sans’s room?

You’re momentarily distracted, but Sans gently pushes you back to a bed ( _his bed?)_ and sits you down on it. He leans down slightly, so he’s more at your level, but doesn’t have to go down that much considering his height.

“you’re safe here,” he tells you, his voice just above a whisper. You immediately felt more at ease once being taken out of the situation, but when he says that, it still somehow makes you feel more calm. He studies you for a bit longer, trying to make sure you’re okay, maybe, and then continues. “alright. now, what exactly were you running from, kid?”

So… you guess he wasn’t  there for that, then. He must’ve walked off before it happened. You were wondering where he went.

“A woman came to our door…” you begin, noticing how your hands are still slightly shaky and stuffing them into your lap, “she was from… CPS, I think. She wanted to talk to come inside and ‘talk’, but we all know that’s not true. She wants to take me away. They don’t want me with you guys…” You look down at the floor. “I don’t want to be taken away, Sans. I… I don’t want to _go back_ …!”

“no.”

You look back up at him, blinking. “N-No?”

“no,” he repeats to you firmly, “no one is taking you away. no one is taking you _anywhere,_ sweetheart.”

“But…” you know that Sans and Chara and everyone would all fight for you to prevent you from being taken away, but… there are some things they can’t control. “Monsters aren’t technically legal citizens. Legally, Toriel isn’t allowed to adopt me, Sans.”

He appears troubled by it too, not responding right away. After all, you’re right. And there’s nothing any of them can really do about that fact just yet.

“then... we’ll figure something out,” he states confidently. “it doesn’t matter. we’ll figure something out.”

He says it like he believes it, and you want to believe it too, but… what can they do? They can’t just kill everyone who tries to take you. There’s only so much they can even attempt.

He seems to realize you don’t quite believe him and sighs, sitting down beside you. “hey,” he reaches for your hand, and you glance up at his face. He continues, “you just got us our happy ending. i’m not about to let you be ripped away from it. none of us will.” His bony finger traces over the back of your hand soothingly. “got that? we’re gonna figure somethin’ out. we’ll fix it. you’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

You… you still have your doubts; you know humans. You know how they are and how they hate people who are different than them and how they’ll try and try to get you away from your family. It’s still _terrifying_ to think about, just the _possibility_ that you could be brought back to your old parents, that you could end up alone, but…

You choose to believe him. To believe in him. You trust Sans.

“your old home…” he begins, and you stiffen up, hoping he won’t realize. He does, though, and you can see it in his face as he softens. “...it really wasn’t great, was it.”

It’s not even a question. He doesn’t know, right? He doesn’t know where you came from? Who you used to be?

No, that’s impossible. He would’ve said something specific, right?

You… you want to be honest with everyone. You do. But, some things you just really wish they didn’t have to know. Things that you’re ashamed of, embarrassed to talk about. Things that you know would change the way how everyone thought of you if you told them, and you don’t want you relationships to be ruined. And, even if they could get over it, you don’t want your friends and family took look at you differently. You just want to be…

Normal. Equal. You want a fair chance.

Maybe it’s too late for that, but…

“...No,” you say at last, in a voice so quiet you barely hear it yourself. It was far, _far_ less than great, actually, but you’re not going to say that. From the look on Sans’s face, he has an idea.

You must be looking at him longingly, because he silently opens his arms, and you slowly fall into them.

You’re thankful that he doesn’t ask anymore questions. He’ll learn the answers soon enough. You promise yourself that.

You rest your head against his chest and breathe in his scent, enjoying his warmth. You know Sans would never hurt you. You trust him. He feels safe. This feels safe. You feel safe.

“Can we just like this for a while? I… don’t want to go back just yet.”

“yeah,” he mutters back to you instantly, no hesitation, “sure. we can stay here for a while, sweetheart.”

You smile a little into his shirt. What did you do to deserve someone like him? “Thank you.”

His hand moves to your back. “of course.” A pause. He speaks into your hair. “you’re not goin’ back there, sweetheart. you’re staying right here with us. with the people who love you.”

You hug him a little tighter.

You’re not sure how long you stay like this, but…

The whole time, there’s this light, warm feeling dancing in your chest that you you don’t think you’ve ever really felt before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully i'll be able to update soon! thank you all for your kudos and your lovely comments. even though it takes me forever to respond, i read every single one and i appreciate them all <3 happy belated fourth of july to everyone who celebrates it, and i hope everyone is having a great summer so far


	23. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i'm back with another update!!! and it hasn't even been a month!! wow!!  
> okay, so, admittedly this chapter is a bit shorter than normal. and i apologize! i promise the next one will be a lot longer :)  
> EDIT: ALSO WE HIT 200K DAMNN  
>  
> 
> this chapter starts in chara' pov.

“ _Frisk!”_

You quickly run after her, but before you can even come close to grasping her, something tugs you backwards. You look back to see it’s your mother. _Seriously?_

“What are you doing?” you demand, trying to jerk away from her, _much like Frisk did from you_ , “Let go!”

“I am sorry, my child,” she says, her gaze softening slightly, “I cannot let you go as well.”

“What are you talking about?!” you try once again to pull away, a bit more violent this time, but still trying not to hurt her, “mother, one of your children just _ran off, a_ nd you’re just going to let her go?! In the state she was in as well?”

“I am sorry,” she repeats, “you could get hurt.”

“ _So could Frisk!_ ”

“I know that,” she sighs, seeming frustrated as well, “I will go look for her, but you are going to have to stay—”

_Fuck this._

You twist the arm that your mother is holding onto backwards, cringing slightly at the light crack you hear, but successfully end up releasing her grip on you. You feel guilty, but you ignore it for now. You need to find Frisk.

You quickly trace her steps, peeking into the bathroom before concluding she had to have gone out of the back door when you find it open ever so slightly.

You run outside, surveying your surroundings, but seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

“Frisk?” you call out, anxiously looking around, “Frisk, it’s okay. It’s just me, Chara. I’m not going to force you to go anywhere. I’ll help you. Just…”

She’s not here.

You curse to yourself and swiftly hop the fence. As soon as your feet hit the ground, you hear the sound of the door opening behind you.

“Chara!” Toriel calls after you, but you don’t reply, simply standing still in place. There’s no sign of Frisk at all. She could’ve gone _anywhere_. But how could she have gotten out of sight so quickly? It’s almost as if she vanished into thin air…

Wait.

Where’s Sans?

You turn to Toriel as she approaches you. “Sans,” you tell her urgently, “mother, where is Sans?”

She begins to say something, but stops. “...Come on, Chara,” she gently grasps onto you, but firmly enough to make sure that you won’t try to run away again, “let us go inside, alright? We will figure it all out.”

You sigh, giving in and following her in, trying to calm your racing heartbeat.

_Frisk, you better be safe._

###  _Chapter Twenty-Three: Decisions_

Sans is still holding you when his phone rings.

You both slowly pull back, and he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out the device and answering it, holding it up to his skull. “hello?”

You watch him, hearing a quiet voice on the other end but it’s not loud enough for you to pick up who it is.

“hey, tori.”

 _Oh._ Of course.

You… almost managed to forget everything that was going on, somehow. It was like… you kinda just disappeared inside yourself for a while, not really thinking. Sans’s arms were warm, and it felt nice. It felt nice to just not really think about it. To not really feel anything. Just kind of… floating.

But you’re suddenly brought back to reality now.

“yeah, the kid’s with me, don’t worry,” a pause, “yeah, she’s ok. she’s safe.”

You’re suddenly feeling wracked with guilt. You… just left them, you didn’t even say anything. You just ran out. For all they knew, you could’ve gotten hurt. Done something stupid. Something could’ve happened to you. You…

You left Chara.

This isn’t good, _you need to get back_ —

“but, i think the question is—is it safe for her?”

The tone in Sans’s voice almost sounds… irritated? It’s what you’re thinking, too, though. Ultimately, it’ll be worth all the trouble if you manage to evade being taken somewhere, right? You want to go back, to apologize, to make sure everyone is alright, but… you’d rather have them momentarily be distressed than be taken away from them forever. You can’t let that happen.

“really? are you sure?” Sans speaks into the phone, shifting slightly on the bed. You swallow. You can’t tell if that’s good or bad. “...alright. see you soon, tori.”

You straighten up as he hangs up, waiting anxiously for him to explain. He sighs. “you’re not gonna like this, kiddo, but we gotta go back.” Your stomach sinks, but he hurriedly continues, “but _no one_ is taking you anywhere. alright? i can assure you that. i don’t know the exact details, but from what tori told me, you just need to talk to the social worker.”

Talk to, huh… you have no clue what that entails, but…

You take a deep breath. Okay, you’re fine, it’ll be fine. You’ve got everyone protecting you. You just need to talk to the woman, and then you’ll all be fine.

_You’re just so scared she’ll ask too much…_

“look, it’s gonna be alright sweetheart,” Sans assures you warmly, grasping your hand firmly, “we won’t let anything happen to ya.”

Right. You’ll be fine. Everyone will be fine. You can do this.

“...Okay,” you decide, “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

* * *

You’ve somehow managed to find even more hatred in yourself towards humanity in only a short time span of half an hour.

You glare at the woman sitting in a chair across the room, playing with her pen and tapping it against her clipboard. You’re honestly tempted to get up and break the pen in half and then throw the pieces in her face, but you’re sure mom wouldn’t let you get away with that.

It’s been far too long since Frisk left, and you’re really starting to get worried. Mom has been watching you closely the whole time, even when she gets a call back from Sans and gets up to go answer it. You’re praying she’s with him, even if you despise that idea, but you think it’s better than a lot of the alternatives.

And when you see mom’s shoulders sink in relief after asking if Frisk was with him, you feel yourself sigh with relief as well. It’s always something with the comedian. Of course it was him. If he did _anything,_ you _swear..._

She comes back in a few more minutes after explaining the situation in a little more depth, assuring the skeleton that Frisk was in no immediate danger (which, some part of you doubts, but your fingers are curled around the knife in waistband of your pants and you’re ready to hurt the social worker if needed), and from what she says to him, it seems as though he’s coming back. That _Frisk_ is coming back.

“Sans and Frisk will be back soon,” she announces, sitting a chair beside you. “I am very sorry for all the commotion this has caused.”  
You don’t know why she’s apologizing when _it’s the woman’s fault_ , but a part of you guesses that she’s just playing it up to get on the social worker’s good side, especially because the way she says it doesn’t really seem completely real. After living with her so long, you’ve come to pick up her sweet, motherly voice, and her _I’m-just-being-nice-to-you-so-you’ll-give-me-what-I-want_ voice. You, however, don’t care as much, because you’ll kill anyone who tries to lay a finger on Frisk, and that most definitely includes this woman.

“Don’t apologize,” she replies, sounding guilty. Good. She _should be_. “It’s not your fault. Sometimes, things like this happen.”

Something about that statement irritates you. Sometimes, things like this happen? It’s _not_ inevitable. There are many other precautions they could’ve taken, they didn’t _have_ to do this the way they did. Frisk isn’t just some everyday child, and mom has already taken many steps towards adoption. _They know,_ they just _don’t care._

You dig your fingers into the skin of your palms and force yourself to stay calm until you hear the door being unlocked.

You instantly get up, waiting until you see Frisk and rush over before anyone can stop you.

“Ch-Chara!”

You hear her say your name in surprise when you grab her and pull her inside, wrapping your arms around her. Before she can return the embrace, you pull back and look at her sternly. “Never do that again, alright?” you lower your voice a bit, “not unless I’m with you.”

She instantly looks guilty, but before she can apologize, you slowly release her, letting mom have her time with her. Sans, who you didn’t really notice before, shuffles inside, walking around your mother and Frisk, stepping to the other side of them.

“Oh my child,” she (understandably) fusses over Frisk, smoothing out her hair before hugging her tightly. “Please do not ever run away like that again.”

Frisk murmurs an apology into her chest, looking shameful when she steps back, keeping her head down. It makes you sad, because, _you get it_. You know what it feels like to be so irrationally afraid of someone that you can’t help but run away at the mere mention of them. You know how it is to come from a bad family, to have to constantly be on guard and hide from those who want to bring you back to them. Hell, if you were in her position you probably would have run away too.

“Frisk,” the social worker says her name gently but firmly, and Frisk jolts, probably also momentarily forgetting she was here. You step in front of her, putting yourself between Frisk and the woman. You know she notices, but seems to ignore it. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to scare you like that. But there’s nothing to be worried about, alright? I’m just going to talk a bit with you and your family. Okay? There’s no need to be scared.”

Frisk looks reluctant, rubbing her upper arm with her other hand, but after a moment, she answers unwaveringly. “Yeah, it’s-it’s okay. I… can talk.”

Satisfied with this, she smiles at Frisk brightly. You don’t like it. “Okay. Then let’s go sit down, alright?”

With that, the woman begins to lead Frisk into a different room, but you grab her shoulder, causing her to stop momentarily and look back at you. She smiles at you reassuringly. “It’ll be fine,” she says, and you slowly let go. You guess you don’t really have a choice.

“Would you like me to go with you, my child?” mom asks her, and she still keeps that smile on her face, shaking her head.

“No, it’s okay, mom,” she takes a breath, “I’ll be okay.”

“Please wait here for a moment,” the social worker instructs the rest of you, “we’ll be done in a few minutes.”

You watch them walk off before sitting down beside mom, folding your hands and placing them into your lap. You hate waiting.

“Do not worry,” mom assures you, taking your hand into her own. “It is all going to be alright.”

“Yeah,” you lay your head back, “I hope so.”

* * *

“Do you know why I wanted to talk to you alone?”

You feel the social worker’s eyes on you intently. Julie Young was her name, or something along that line. You think it would be the best idea to try to retain eye contact for as long as possible, as you don’t know think it would send the best kind of message if you avoided it, but you can’t help but let your gaze wonder when you begin to think.

“Because I ran away from you?” is your first guess, but considering the situation a bit more, you amend it, “because you think I should be living with humans and not monsters?”

“Well, because you ran away was one of the reasons,” she says, pushing a strand of dark hair out of her face, “but, as you may or may not know, monsters aren’t considered legal citizens as of now, and can’t legally adopt you.” Your stomach sinks. Yeah, you knew that. But you guess having someone like a social worker say it straight to your face when the threat of being taken somewhere else is very real has a whole different affect. “But,” she adds, “I don’t want to take you away.”

_...What?_

“Not if you have no one to return to, and especially not if you’re safe and happy here, as you very well seem to be,” she confirms, and you just stare at her. “That’s the exact reason I was sent here. To make sure that this is a good and safe environment for you, and your guardians are fit to care for you. Despite monster citizenship not being in place yet, there are measures that I can take to make sure you are secure in this family until it is.”

You can’t believe this. You… you got so worked up over nothing?

“That is,” she begins, _and_ _maybe you spoke too soon,_ “unless you do have a family to return to.”

_A family to return to…_

You shake your head without any hesitation. “No. No I don’t.”

“But, you do have family and parents living up here, correct?”

You thought she didn’t want to take you away from here? “Yes, I do, but…” _they’re not my family anymore,_ you almost say, but you don’t think that would be the best idea. But, how else can you put something like this? What else can you say? What else _should_ you say?

“I can’t go back there,” you state simply, managing to not look away. You try to think of anything else you can say, but she speaks before you have the chance.

“Is that one of the reasons you ran away? Because you were afraid you’d be brought back there?”

“I…”

You don’t know how much you should tell her.

You can’t lie, can you? That could get you, and not even _just_ _you_ in a lot of trouble… But, if you tell the truth, then not only could that catastrophically damage your reputation and in turn harm monsters, it could get people you care about (well… used to care about) in a lot trouble. It’s a lose-lose.

But, then again…

_What about your sister?_

You have your own personal qualms with your family and everything, but… it doesn’t mean that she’s the same way. You don’t want to ruin what she has. It wouldn’t be fair. But, on the other hand, if things were even similar to what they were like for you for her, then _not_ saying anything would be hurting her. You have to get her out of there _somehow_ , and this could be a full proof way to do it as well as bring her to you, and then she can be safe, and—

_Don’t you want revenge too?_

—But just because they hurt you doesn’t mean they’re bad people, doesn’t mean they don’t care about you at all, doesn’t mean they deserve to have their lives ruined, doesn’t mean _that’s what you want—_

 _But they didn’t even report you missing,_ they _obviously_ don’t care, they _never did,_ you _know that now, but—_

_Ugh—!_

“Frisk?”

She’s concerned. You can hear it in her voice.

You realize you’ve begun to pull on your hair. You untangle your fingers and place your hand on the table. You don’t remember running your hand through your hair.

You take a deep breath.

 _Calm down_ , you tell yourself. You have to be smart here.

(Because you promised no RESETs anymore, right? No more redos. You can’t break that promise. You have to do it right _this_ time.)

...Aren’t you allowed to be a little selfish? You always try to think about other people, after all, you’re miniscule and unimportant, you only serve to further other people, so…

Don’t you deserve it? Isn’t that what you want?

_...Is it?_

“...Yes, it is.”

You decide.

You don’t want to risk the possibility of your sister being hurt. She’s not going to go through what you did.

“Are you afraid of your parents, Frisk?” she asks you, and…

“I am,” you answer readily.

“Why?” she continues to push you, and you wonder if this was one of her goals from the beginning; to find out exactly _why_ you hadn’t and didn’t want to return to your previous family, why you would rather live with _monsters._ “Did they hurt you?”

You stop for a moment.

If you tell everything, at least, everything that you relates to your family, then…

You could very well be looking at going to court. And everything that would follow that…

You…

…

…

…

 

“Could you promise me something?”

She looks at you curiously. “It depends on what it is.”

You’re still unsure about everything, but…

“I want my sister out of that house.”

This is one thing you’re sure about.

 

* * *

 

With every minute that you wait, you can feel yourself grow more and more anxious.

You sit in the exact same position for the whole time, as still as you can possibly be, and you fell yourself beginning to get stiff, but you don’t care. Mom’s arm is wrapped around you, and you know she’s nervous too, but she hides it pretty well.

The comedian, who was standing and leaning against the wall for a good portion of time has made himself comfortable on a loveseat across from the both of you, his eyes closed, but you don’t think he’s sleeping. You’ve seen him do that before.

Maybe you’re being irrational, but, this is making you nervous. You hate leaving Frisk alone, especially with _humans,_ and it wasn’t supposed to take this long, you have your knife,  and if you have to you can take down humans with your hands, _what’s happening—_

Footsteps.

You jerk your head up. Frisk walks out, her arms crossed over her stomach, and her eyes downcast. The social worker is next to her. Her expression is… stony. Hard to read.

You stand up, followed by mom and Sans, quickly approaching the both of them. Frisk doesn’t look up at you, but the woman glances between the three of you before requesting to talk to mom for a moment alone.

“Of course.” She looks to you and Frisk, “I will be back in a moment.”

Once she’s out of sight, you turn to Frisk.

She notices your gaze, and the grip she has around her stomach tightens.

“Frisk…”

You don’t know what else to say yet. She doesn’t seem to mind though. She gets it.

“Chara…” she says your name in turn, looking even more miserable after, “I… I don’t know if I made the right decision.”

The right... decision?

Does she mean something she told the social worker? It has to be related to that, but, there’s a few things she could be referring to.

Sans walks up to the both of you, looking particularly at Frisk. “you alright, kiddo?”

“...Yeah,” she decides after a small silence, “I will be.”

You study her, trying to figure out what could’ve happened in the time she spent with the woman, knowing she probably isn’t ready to talk about it yet, or doesn’t want to right now considering how selective she’s being with her words, so you won’t ask her yet. Toriel soon re-enters the room, followed by the woman, and you wonder if she’s done yet and this is finally over. But then…

“Chara, isn’t it? I’m saying that right?”

You narrow your eyes at her, slowly nodding once. You feel Frisk grab onto your arm.

“Good. May I speak to you also?”

“No, you may not,” you say immediately, mocking her cheery, plastic tone and ignoring the look mom shoots at you. “Whatever it is that you wish to ask me, ask me right now and right here.”

She seems a little off put by that, but doesn’t argue with you. “Well, alright, I guess…” she shifts uncomfortably under your stare, which gives you a sense of satisfaction, “I was really just going to ask about you and your family.”

You see mom visibly stiffen and feel Frisk do the same beside you. You stand your ground, however, making sure to not let any emotion show on your face.

“That is unimportant,” you tell her in a matter-of-fact tone, “they’re all dead.”

She goes silent, looking a bit concerned and possibly unsure, so you say, “If you really feel that it is necessary, you can look up my records, and they will tell you the same thing.” You glance her up and down and cross your arms for good measure. “Now, are we done here?”

She seems unsatisfied, but doesn’t continue to pester you about it. She briefly walks around the house with you mother, seemingly to make sure that there’s nothing out of place, and then returns back to the living room. She makes a comment about a follow up meeting to mom, which you don’t like at all, and tells her, “Rest assured, we’ll be making some other visits to finish everything up.” She then turns to you and Frisk. “Thank you for talking to me,” she says warmly, which you’re sure is mostly directed towards Frisk. “Everything will be worked out. There’s no need to worry about it. We’ve got it all under control.”

Frisk nods, still holding onto your arm, but now you think it may be more for her sake and less for yours. The social worker smiles at the both of you, and then mom leads her out of the house and she follows.

When the door is closed, you swear, you can feel all the tension in the room instantly dissipate. Frisk exhales audibly, and when mom comes back you can tell she’s a lot less stiff. You can feel yourself relax a little too.

“I am sorry that you had to be put through that,” mom apologizes to the both of you, sympathy all over her face. You were frustrated with her earlier, but in the end, you know she’s doing her best and she just wants the both of you to be okay. It’s not her fault.

It’s the _humans’_ fault.

“It’s okay,” Frisk says for the two of you, “I think… maybe it’s better that it happened like this.”

You don’t know exactly what that means, and it kind of unnerves you, but, it’s better to see her this way than it was to see her how she was like earlier. At least, she’s alright for now.

“i should probably get goin’,” Sans says, looking a bit out of place in the three of you’s conversation. “all the fun’s over now, and it’s gettin’ late.”

“Goodness Sans,” mom scolds at his joking tone, which you don’t like at all either. He simply chuckles, saying goodbye to Frisk after she detaches herself from your arm.

“if anything like this ever happens again, don’t hesitate to reach out for me, kay?” he tells her, leaning down a bit. “i’m always here for ya, sweetheart. don’t think we’re gonna let anyone hurt you or take you away. this is where you belong.”

She smiles, giving him a soft okay before hugging him goodbye. Finally. Good riddance.

He leaves, and then it’s just the three of you again. You kind of don’t want to see anyone else except mom and Frisk for at least a week now after everything that’s happened today.

“Oh, my children.” Mom encloses the both of you in a hug, which you gladly accept. You sigh into the feeling of it.

When she pulls back, she frets over the both of you. “Are you two going to be alright?”

“Yes,” you answer promptly, knowing Frisk is really the one who she should be concerned about. She answers swiftly as well.

“Yeah,” she says confidently, “I will be.”

There that is again. Well, you’ll ask her about it later.

The both of you hang around for a bit longer, mom still a bit worried over you two and continuing to check if you’re okay. After today, you’re finding yourself even more thankful than usual that Toriel is your mother and Frisk’s mother and not anyone else. That you’re both living with her and that you’re all together. This is your family. Frisk is a part of your family. And no one is going to change that. Especially not _stupid_ humans who don’t even have a sliver of understanding of what you and Frisk have had to go through with your previous families. In truth, _you_ don’t even know exactly what happened with Frisk, but from what you’ve gathered, you honestly think it may be worse than what happened with you. And, not to be self-pitying, but that’s saying something.

“It has been a long day,” mom begins a bit later, smiling sympathetically at the both of you. “I think I am going to go to sleep. But if you need anything at all, my children, do come get me, alright?”

“Of course, mother.” You glance at Frisk, who looks tired as well. After everything, you’re pretty worn out yourself. “I think we are probably going to try to get to bed as well.”

“That is good to hear. Goodnight, my children.”

“Goodnight,” you both call after her, almost in perfect unison. You turn to Frisk. “Are you tired?”

“Mm-hm,” she replies, and then looks away, seeming a bit shy for some reason. “Um… would you be okay with sleeping with me tonight?”

As if the two of you haven’t done it before. “That’s fine,” you answer her instantly. After today, it’s understandable that she wouldn’t want to sleep alone. Honestly, you would feel kind of uncomfortable letting her do so. “You don’t even need to ask.”

She smiles at the ground. “Thank you, Chara.”

You both head up to her room, and you notice how Frisk seems a little… shaky, as she walks in and gets settled. Understandably so, you think, you’re still a little shaken up over what happened, and you’re kind of fearful to see what comes of it, but it really just makes you more curious about exactly what she said to the social worker. You hate to bring it up again, but, now that you’re alone…

“Hey, Frisk,” you begin once you’re beside her, sitting up instead of lying down. She folds her hands under her head, looking up at you.

“Yeah?”

You just gaze at her for a moment, taking in the beauty of her face. You don’t want to see her sad or scared again…

“What exactly did you tell the social worker?”

She only looks a bit taken aback by the question, probably expecting you to ask at one point or another. She’s not scared though, pushing herself up a bit more and lacing her fingers over her stomach. “I just kind of talked about how my home life used to be. How we didn’t have that much…” She shrugs. “It wasn’t really that big of a deal. I just wanted her to know I couldn’t go back there.

“Wasn’t that big of a deal”…

You don’t think Frisk’s home life _“wasn’t that big of a deal”._

“And, she thought it was safe for me here, so I get to stay,” Frisk finishes brightly, a contrast from her previous words that seemed to allude to something else.

You don’t want to make her say anything she’s not ready to say, of course, you know how that feels, you wouldn’t want to tell her anything about your past unless you were ready either, but you just feel like she’s not telling you something, and when it involves people like CPS, then it matters. You don’t want anything to happen…

“Is that all?”

“Huh?” she’s confused now, “what do you mean?”

“That’s all that you talked about? Nothing else happened?” How do you phrase this? There’s ways you could probably ask what you’re thinking flat out, but…

“No…?”

No matter, you suppose. You’re confident if she doesn’t tell you now that she’s going to at some point. You just thought maybe the time may be now. You guess not. Well, that’s fine.

“...Alright,” you reply. “That’s all. I was just curious.”

She looks at you, like she’s not really sure what you’re on about, which you could take in a few ways, but you just let it go for now.

“Okay… Goodnight then, Chara.”

“Goodnight, Frisk.”

You can’t help your mind from wandering, though…

You’ve seen flashes of Frisk’s memories. You know she’s downplaying her past to a certain extent, but maybe the more important question is why? And, of course…

_What exactly was it that she went through?_

* * *

“You’re lying, aren’t you.”

You hear a familiar hushed voice and turn over, rubbing your eyes before trying to look for him. You know what he’s talking about without even having to think about it. “No...”

“Don’t you remember what I told you?”

You clutch the blankets, looking down. “Of course I do.”

“Then, why?” Is that… concern in his voice? “You shouldn’t try to protect people who don’t love you in the end.”

“I’m not…” you murmur, but it doesn’t even sound convincing to yourself.

“...You have an alternate agenda.” You gawk at him.

“I don’t,” you argue not very convincingly. “I’m tired. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

“But you’re still awake, aren’t you? Is that not what you’re thinking about?”

You sigh and ignore him, turning over.

“Look,” he continues still, “all I’m saying is that if you want this to be a RESET free timeline, I don’t think this is the best path to go down.”

You don’t say anything back again, and he doesn’t speak again either. You close your eyes, tiredness overcoming you, but…

You still end up staying awake for a while.

* * *

You wake up to Frisk crying.

“A nightmare…?” you ask her, and you can vaguely see her nod, grabbing on to you when you open your arms for her.

Maybe you should’ve expected this. After everything that happened yesterday, it’s only to be natural. You’ve started to notice she normally has the really bad ones, the ones where she wakes up in tears, or, worse, screaming, after a particular stressful day. A trigger, maybe…?

“You’re safe,” you murmur to her, stroking her hair. “I’ve got you. Nothing can hurt you, love.”

She silently holds onto you for few minutes, and you run your hands up and down her back, waiting for her to calm down. You think she might’ve actually fallen asleep in your arms, she’s so quiet and still, but then she speaks.

“Chara…”

You glance down at her, moving your arms down to her lower back so she can easily pull back. “Yes?”

She does so, after a moment, reaching up and brushing the tears from her eyes before gazing at you wearily. “Do you think… you’ll stop caring about me?”

You frown at that, combing down her hair that’s gotten messed up from her tossing and turning in bed. “Of course not. Why are you thinking about nonsense like that?”

“I…” she averts her gaze to her lap. “I don’t know…”

“If anything, I think I should be the one worried about _you_ getting tired of _me_ ,” you smile at her sadly, “you’re so good, Frisk. And I’m… well, I’m just _not._ ”

“That’s not true,” she says immediately, “Chara, you… you’re _perfect_.”

“I’m far from it,” you say immediately. You can’t even consider that. You can’t help but feel happy that she thinks so, though. “No one is perfect, dear.”

“Except you!” she argues stubbornly, and you resist rolling your eyes. “Even if that’s true… it doesn’t matter to me. Even if you have flaws, people can always improve, so… you’re still perfect to me.”

You can feel a faint heat on your cheeks, but you ignore it. _People can always improve_ … maybe so, but it doesn’t mean they will.

“Besides, I…” the confidence she had only a few seconds ago disappears, replaced by uncertainty, “I don’t deserve compliments like that…”

“Don’t you, though?”

She slowly looks up at you, and you smile at her. “Even if you don’t think you do, I think you do, so…” you lean forward and gently lean your forehead against yours. Her eyes are so beautiful up close… “You’re still perfect to me.”

You think somewhere in herself she’s somewhat irritated at you for using her own flirt against her, but right now, she seems to let it go, softly smiling back at you and closing her eyes. You do the same.

It’s nice to have little moments like these. When it doesn’t matter who loves who, where it’s just the two of you. No label, just you and Frisk. It’s nice to just forget and let go sometimes. Like you both have your own little world.

“You won’t ever hate me? Even if… you find out something bad about me?”

You slowly open your eyes, finding Frisk staring back at you worriedly. As if she has anything to be worried about.

“Of course not.” You can really feel where she’s coming from, though. Even with the power to change the past, there are still some things you just truly cannot erase. “I’ve done equally bad things, if not worse. And… the past is the past.”

She seems to grow distant at those words. “It’s a new timeline…”

You grimace. “Sans hasn’t been telling you more of _that_ again, has he?”

“No,” she answers, seeming a bit amused by that, “just… I guess I really want it to be different this time. For everything to end up okay.”

“It will be,” you speak without even thinking about it. Hell, you don’t fucking know, you have _no idea_ . _Anything_ could happen. Everything could go wrong. The future is uncertain, especially in your case; you and Frisk could wake up in a bed of golden flowers at any given point of time and that _scares_ you. It also scares you that you’ve made it this far this time, to the surface, where even more possibilities arise. Frisk being an ambassador puts her in a very dangerous place. And you can just _hope_ you won’t have to use your knife to fend off anyone trying to take or hurt Frisk. Even worse, if you somehow weren’t able to protect her…

But, there’s something else other than the fear. Perhaps it’s what pushed you to automatically say that. Not just to make Frisk feel better, but…

 _Because you believe in her_. When she said she’d get you all a happy ending, you believed it. You still do. You see her working every day to try to get there, and you try to help as much as you can (keeping her healthy and alive is a big part of it). You truly think that it everything may end up okay. That…

Maybe all of you will be happy in the end.

“Because,” you pat her on the head, “we have such a cute and capable ambassador leading us.”

You can see hint of color on her cheeks. Adorable. “And… I’m always by your side.”

She takes a little while to mull that over. And then, she raises her arms to her chest, looking too awake than she should be at this hour, “Yeah. We’ve got this. We can do anything.”

She seems to be more saying it to herself, which just makes it all the more endearing. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. Oh, Frisk…

“...But, in order to be the best ambassador you can be, you need your sleep,” you remind her, laughing quietly at the expression on her face, as if she just remembered she was supposed to be sleeping.

“Yeah, can the both of you please _shut up_ and _go to sleep_ already?” Flowey’s voice sounds from the corner, but you dismiss him.

“Sorry, Flowey…” Frisk apologizes, of course, and then begins to settle back under the covers again.

You do the same, and once you’re both situated, she lowers her voice to a whisper to speak to you. “Thank you, Chara…”

You push yourself closer to her. “You don’t always have to thank my everytime, you know. It’s my job.”

She simply shakes her head before finding her way back into your arms. _Where she belongs._

“I’ll always be here for you…” you murmur into her ear, “no matter what kind of person you used to be. No matter what happens.” _I’ll always love you._

You feel her shoulders shake slightly as she laughs. “I’m so happy I have you…”

It’s not what you’ve wanted to hear her say for what feels like the longest time, but it’s good enough for right now.

“Yeah…” you whisper back, letting yourself drift, “I’m happy to have you too, Frisk.”

This timeline, it’ll be different. It’ll end okay. Happy.

You’ll make sure it will.

* * *

“I have good news,” mom tells you the next day when you wake up, and you sit down, stretching your arms over your head.

“Good. We need that right now.”

“I talked to Mrs. Young,” she begins, and you drop your arms onto the table in front of you, trying to recall that name.

“Who?”

“The social worker who was over last night,” she explains. Ah. You don’t really bother trying to remember their names. “I explained some of your situation as well as I could to her, and she told me that, while monster citizenship still isn’t fully in place yet, you still may be able to apply.”

You freeze, looking at your mother like she’s crazy. “What?” Is she saying what you think she is?

She smiles. “You could possibly be eligible for monster citizenship.”

You can’t stop yourself from getting excited. This _is_ good news. “Seriously? That’s… that’s great. What exactly does it entail?”

“Well,” she sits down beside you, seeming almost as happy as you are, “you would get a monster ID and official citizenship, when the process is completed. You would legally be under my custody.”

That’s good. You weren’t really particularly worried, since you’ve done a pretty good job of not being a very big focal point for news outlets and the like, and you know none of your family would come looking for you (they’re pretty much all dead… the ones that aren’t wouldn’t even know they’re related to you. _Hopefully_.). It’s not like you’ve had any issues so far, but it’s nice to be safe. You’ve kind of always wished you were born a monster since you found out about them, and…  this is pretty damn close.

_If only you could do the same thing for Frisk. If only it was that easy._

“I do not know every exact detail, since the process is not exactly finished yet, but, would that be something you would be interested in?” mom asks, and _she doesn’t even have to,_ _of course_ you would.

“Yes! I would love that!” you answer instantly. “Thank you, mother.”

She smiles. “Of course, my child.”

But… that also leaves something else…

“However,” you hate bringing it up again and ruining the mood, “what about Frisk?”

Mom sighs, her expression sombering as she leans back in her seat. “We are working it out,” she answers you tiredly. “For now, Frisk is legally under my care. However, Child Protective Services is going to have to meet with her parents before we can actually get the papers to make it official.”

Anger rises in you. “Really…”

“I know.” She’s obviously annoyed by this too. “I would never want to pressure her to speak about such things, but… with how she reacted upon first seeing Mrs. Young, and the fact that she did not want to go back there… it really makes me wonder just what her life with her parents were like.”

“Not great, I’m sure,” you mutter. You know how scared she is of going back there, and you’ve seen some pretty alarming fragments of her memories. And, of course, the fact that she fell in the first place is pretty telling in itself. “I wonder… mother, do you think maybe we have been to lenient about this?”

She furrows her eyebrows. “What exactly do you mean, my child?”

“Do you think maybe we _should_ be pushing her to tell us?” you cringe slightly once you say it. That’s not exactly what you meant… “I mean… if she’s taken this long to say anything, then she had to have gone through fairly traumatic, right? I do think she wants to tell us, she has said so before, but…” you sigh, “If wonder that, by not telling us, there are people who hurt Frisk very badly who are getting away with it.”

You want them to _pay_ . You want to hunt them down and hurt them _yourself._

Mom considers this silently. You just hate it not being addressed, as well. If possible, you want to be able to help Frisk, like she did for you. You may not be able to heal her, but… nothing will get better if you all just ignore it. You can’t just pretend nothing ever happened and that everything is okay when it’s not.

“She talked to Mrs. Young, though, did she not?”

She seems conflicted. You know the feeling.

“Yes, but…” you cross your arms, recalling your conversation last night and how her replies were rather short and vague, “I have a feeling that she may not have told her everything. For whatever reasons.”

And you have a few guesses at those reasons.

Either that, or she didn’t tell _you_ everything.

Which is possible, you’d understand, but… it’s kinda disappointing to think that she doesn’t trust you enough, and that you haven’t presented yourself as a trustworthy person to her.

Who knows, though.

_There’s really only one way to find out…_

Mom sighs. “Well, either way, I am not so sure she’s going to be able to keep it all to herself with all that is going on.”

That’s true, you guess. You wonder… would it be more beneficial to give her more time or just confront her upfront about it?

“I shall think about it,” she concludes, and which comforts you a little. You know when mom says she’ll think about something, she _will._ And she tends to come up with pretty foolproof solutions. She begins to say something else, something about breakfast, but is interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing.

“Ah…” she picks it up from the counter, taking one look at the name on the screen, and then turning away from you. “I apologize, Chara. I must take this.”

She steps out of the room, and you rest your head on your hand.

You guess… you’ll ponder on it a bit more as well.

* * *

You don’t remember falling asleep again, but you open your eyes and it’s all black.

You… think you’re dreaming.

You start walking around, trying to figure out where you are, but there’s nothing. It’s all just black.

“Hello…?” you call out, but your voice falls flat into the nothingness.

You keep walking. There has to be a way out of here…

You stop when you think you hear a noise. It’s hard to tell, but you could’ve sworn you heard something.

You turn around, trying to see through the darkness; make out any possible shape. It’s just so... dark, and it’s starting to hurt your eyes. “Is someone there?”

Silence…

You continue.

But after another few steps, you hear it again.

“...Who are you?”

You can’t really explain it, but you can _feel_ something else with you. You don’t know where it is, or _what_ it is, but you can sense it. Somehow.

You hear something again, similar to before, and this time it’s a bit louder, and you can kinda make out a voice. That’s what it sounds like. But you can’t _understand_ it. It’s not clear or loud enough. It’s almost like a faint whisper.

“I can’t hear you,” you say to it, continuing to try (and fail) to find the source of the noises and your feeling of being watched, “where are you?”

Again, the faint, unintelligible sounds, just loud enough for you to hear but too quiet for you to make it out. It reminds you of trying to listen to voices on the radio, but it’s blocked out by static and you just can’t understand what they’re saying.

It seems to become more anxious, becoming faster, which just makes it even harder to try to listen to.

“I don’t understand…” you search harder, “you aren’t speaking clearly.”

As if spurred on by your words, you can hear it a _little_ bit better, but it’s even more rushed now. It feels like someone’s whispering at your ear but they’re still just out of reach. It gets faster and faster; desperate. Like they’re running out of time.

“I want to help you…” you frown, starting to be affected by the anxious air as well, “but I can’t understand you.”

You still hear it, but…

_You just can’t understand…_

...Someone’s touching you. Shaking you.

“Frisk.”

You open your eyes.

But this time, you’re in you’re room, and there’s a pair of beautiful, red eyes staring back at you.

“Oh…” you move to sit up, “Good morning, Chara…”

She smiles at you a little. “Good morning.” She moves back, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. “Sorry to wake you. Mom wanted me to. Apparently, an embassy nearby wants to see you.”

“Really? That fast?” you ask in amazement. She nods. People of power can get things done pretty quickly… “That’s great!”  
Chara agrees. “It is. Now, get ready and come meet mother and I downstairs, alright?”

“Of course!” you wave to her excitedly as she gets up to leave. She’s shaking her head, but there’s a smile on her face.

You jump out of bed, taking your shirt off as you head to your closet, but pause when you hear a disgruntled noise from behind you.

“Can’t you like, go another place for that?”

You quickly cover yourself with the shirt that you took off. Flowey’s covering his eyes with a leaf. “S-Sorry! I forgot you were here…!” _you really hope he didn’t see anything..._ “U-Um… I’ll go in here!”

You duck into your closet, dropping the shirt at your feet. Couldn’t he have just turned around…?

Oh well. You easily forget about the incident as you change into your uniform that you haven’t touched in a while, and wonder if the embassy will give you anything like this. Maybe. You have enough formal clothes to manage though, you think. And if you really need to, you could always borrow something from Chara.

You walk out, brushing your hair and going to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. You glance at yourself briefly and decide you’re satisfied, walking back to your room to say goodbye to Flowey before closing the door and heading downstairs.

“Are you ready to go?” Toriel asks you. You notice she’s wearing some of her nicer clothing as well.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Toriel explains to you a little more when you’re in the car. “I did not mean to disturb your sleep, Frisk. The embassy would just like for you to meet them and talk to you a little bit. It is nothing to be nervous for.”

You flick your gaze to Chara beside you, who chose to sit beside you instead of in the front. She seems irritated. “And Sans is coming too, right?”

“Ah, yes,” Toriel glances back at the two of you through the rearview mirror, “I forgot to mention that Sans is meeting us there.”

You can’t help but feel excited to see him. You feel safe with him and Chara with you.

The drive isn’t that long. Maybe ten minutes at most. The embassy is pretty large and elaborate. It’s painted white, and the front entrance is surrounded by four pillars. It looks official. Definitely a government building. And, even though this is your job, you feel a little out of place here.

You climb up the stairs, Toriel and Chara by your sides. When you reach the top, you see a familiar blue hoodie. Sans is waiting for the three of you outside, leaning up against the one of the pillars with his hands in his pockets. He stands up when he sees the three of you, however, his grin widening as he waves.

“hey, kiddo,” he addresses you first, and you smile at him. “tori. chara.”

She only gives him a glare while Toriel greets him. As you approach the door, you notice a man outside, and he’s… armed. It makes you nervous at first, but he simply glances at you and seems to know who you are, nodding and opening the door for you. You thank him, and the four of you walk inside, Toriel and Sans idly talking. You don’t really pay it any mind, more distracted by your new surroundings (it’s one of those places that’s so _nice_ … polished, high ceiling, older architecture… you don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it. Maybe because it’s such a drastic change from how you used to live, and maybe because you just feel like you as a person will never quite fit into a place like this), but then Sans’s tone changes and it catches your attention.

“i’m not exactly sure if he’s coming but…” Sans folds his hands behind his back, giving Toriel a sympathetic look, “asgore mentioned maybe showing up at some point.”

Toriel is visibly ruffled by this, but you and Chara are pleased. You’d be happy to see him. You both have had some conversations about how to possibly get them back together, but never really formulated anything. Well, yet. You haven’t really had the time.

In any case, you’re thankful that they aren’t arguing over custody. Asgore seems content with visiting and helping out, but you’re sure he wants more, he just doesn’t want to interfere for the sake of all of you. You appreciate it. You think you all do.

There’s a woman at the front desk who stands up when the four enter, smiling brightly. She greets all of you and introduces herself before instructing Toriel on how to get to the room where you guess you’re going to meet everyone. Sans is listening intently as well.

“Thank you,” Toriel nods gratefully to her, and you thank her as well. Toriel leads the rest of you, and you follow her.

You’re led into a rather long corridor, but stop closer to the end. Toriel looks over the door for a moment, and then nods. “This is it.”

You walk inside slowly. There’s a round table in the middle of the room surrounded by chairs. It’s filled with people in formal clothing standing around and talking, although they quiet down when you enter.

“Ah, hello,” a young man walks up to you. His bright smile telling you he’s happy to meet you, but his face tells you he’s tired. “Welcome. It is so nice to get to meet all of you. Please, come take a seat.”

He gestures towards a set of chairs, and you realize they’re reserved for you. And upon getting closer, you see that they have name plates.

And, you notice… there’s one for you.

_Frisk Dreemurr…_

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i keep saying this but i promise the actual romance is going soon sksksks  
> alsoooo i'm sorry if my writing is still a little off. there's just a lot going on in my life right now.  
> i'm really working hard to try to have at least one more chapter if not more out before the school year starts again and things get a lot more busy. hopefully everyone has had a good summer so far!! thank you for reading!! and thank you for all the kudos and comments, they really do mean so much to me and help the process along!!


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